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OUN 2 7 lt-24 




Introductory 5 

The Champney Family— First Generation 7 

E. Champney ^. . '. 9 

Residence op our Grandfather 11 

Benjamin Champney 12 

The Family Gathering and Visit to the Old Homestead 13 

Letter prom Samuel T. Champney op Brooklyn, read at the Meeting 17 

Address at the Family Gathering 18 

Family Record — Group 25 

Jonas Cutler 27 

Ebenezer 32 

Julius Berespord 35 

Samuel Parker 40 

Elizabeth 41 

Lewis Clark 43 

The Family Mansion 46 

The Old Pine Tree 47 

The Old Farm House 50 

Reminiscences 51 

Inscriptions 52 

Genealogy 53 

Paper prom Cousin Geo. M. Champney 55 

Letter prom Cousin John Preston 60 

The Family Coat op Arms 61 

Experiences op Fred. W. Champney 62 

Solomon Champney 66 

Captain Nathaniel Champney 67 

Jonas C. Champney's Residence 74 

Obituary 76 

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The wish and desire of the author, in presenting these 
few pages of Family History and incident to the public, 
is not only to give a record of the present generation, but 
to cultivate and inspire in the minds of those who are to 
foDow, a love of home! "How few there are who appre- 
ciate the blessings of home, yet, when deprived of them, 
will oftentimes lead even unto death." 

The sweet names of Father, Mother, Brother, and Sis- 
ter, fall upon the ear without awakening a thought of 
their true meaning while we are constantly associated 
with them, and in the hourly enjoyment of their kind 
offices, but it is when, perhaps, some bright eyes have be- 
come dimmed, the merry laughter of others hushed, and 
the weary and wounded heart seeks to fill the void thus 
made among strangers, that the magic of household 
names, and the deep, tender feeling of home^relationship 
is felt and realized. The author is indebted to the his- 
tory of New Ipswich chiefly for the record of the Champ- 
]srEY Family down to the sixth generation, and as his 
father died while he was a child, he could know but little 
of him. It is to be presumed that those only who are 
connected, or may be familiar with the family name, will 
be interested in these pages. 

Some may be a little curious to know why one whose 
pursuits in life have been hitherto very far removed from 


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those of a writer for the public eye, should have under- 
taken a task for which previous practice and experience 
have so little qualified him. He begs to assure them 
that it was almost entirely by accident, as no literary 
ambition prompted him at all. The author could more 
readily arrange and accomplish a machine to compete 
with the speed of the wind, or to propel the mighty 
burthen upon the iron rail; nevertheless, should there 
be one item of interest handed down to future genera- 
tions, within these pages, and could the writer be assured 
that he was doing something for the benefit of those who 
are to come after, his aim will be accomplished, and his 
labor not wholly in vain. 

In tracing the Champney name and ancestry, the com- 
piler feels truly grateful that the name is without a stain 
resting upon it — ^although not often great, yet always 
virtuous, filling the stations called upon to occupy, with 
that honor and fidelity which inspire one to feel justly 
proud of his lineage. His labors have found a "glory" 
in the "fathers," and a lesson from them teaching that 
the richest bequest which any man can leave to posterity 
is that of a bright and spotless character. 


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RiOHASD Champnby Came from Lincolnshire, England, in 1634, 
or 1635, and settled in Cambridge, Mass. He was made freeman 
in 1636. He was a ruling Elder in the Church gathered there, and 
much esteemed for his piety, and his exhibition of the Christian 
virtues. His name is honorably mentioned in the " Cambridge 

Church Gathering.'' He was married in England, to Jane . 

He died Nov. 26, 1669. C%^;dfre/^— Esther, born in England, 1629; 
mairied Josiah Converse, Wobum, 1661. Mary, bom October, 163-, 
died young. Samuel, bom September, 1635 ; married Sarah Hub- 
bard, 1667. Sarah, born May, 1638; married Wm. Barrett, 1656; 
died, 1661. Mary, bom November, 1639; married Jacob French, 

1666. John, born May, 1641. Daniel, born March, 1644. 


Daniel, born 1644, (son of Richard) ; msirried Dorcas Bridge, 
January 3, 1665. They resided in Cambridge. She died in 1684, 
aged 36. He died in 1691, aged 47. Children — ^Dorcas, born August, 

1667, married Nicholas Row, 1690 ; Daniel, bom December, 1669 ; 
Thomas, bom September, 1673; Noah, b.orn September, 1677; 
Downing, bom June, 1680, died 1705, aged 26; Abagail, bom 
April, 1683; Hepzibah, born June, 1687. 


Daniel, bom 1669, (son of Daniel) ; married Bethiah Danfofth. 
Children — ^Thomas, bom 1697; Dorcas, bom 1699; Daniel, bdni 
1700, married Tabitha Hancock, 1723 ; Solomon, born 1702 ; Noah, 
born 1704, married Martha Hubbard, 1726; Downing, bom 1706; 
Richard, bom 1707; Thomas, bom 1709. 

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Solomon, bom 1702, (son of Daniel,) married Elizabeth Canning- 
ham, 1723. Children — ^Richard, bom 172- ; Ebenezer, bora 1720, 
(probably died yonng) ; Nathan, bom 1783 ; John, bom 1735, died 
1820, aged 85, 2d wife Abagail Crackbone ; Silence, bom 1740^ 
died 1747 ; Ebenezer, bom April 3, 1744. The above Solomon was 
bred a mechanic, bm; afterwards became a soldier under George 
m, and was stationed at Castle William, Boston harbor, where 
he died in 1760. 


Ebenezer, (son of Solomon,) bom 1744, married Abagail Trow- 
bridge, at Groton, 1764. Children — ^Benjamin, bom August 20, 
1764, died 1827, aged 62 ; Francis, bom January 27, 1766 ; Abagail, 
bom May 4, 1767, married Thomas Gardner, died 1805 ; Hannah, 
bom September 23, 1768, married James Prescott; Elizabeth, born 
September 12, 1770, died August 27, 1775 ; Sarah, born December 
25, 1771, died August 20, 1775 ; Ebenezer, bom February 5, 1774, 
died August 29, 1775. She died 1775, aged 35. 2d wife, Abagail 
Parker, November 1778, died 1790, aged 38. Children — ^Elizabeth, 
bom Febraary 6, 1779, married John Preston, M.D. ; Ebenezer, 
bom July 19, 1780, died 1820, aged 40; Jonas Cutler, bom April 
17, 1783, died 1824, aged 41. Married third wife, Susan Wyman, 
1796. She died same year. 


Hannah, (daughter of Ebenezer,) married James Prescott, 1792. 
Children — Susan, bom 1793, died 1795; Hannah, bom 1795, died 
1800; Susan, born 1797; Lucretia; Lucy; James, bora 1803, died 
1803; William; Marjr; Hannah Maria; Benjamin. 

Ebenezer, (son of Ebenezer,) married Mehitable Goodridge. 
Children — ^Ebenezer Nichols; Jonas Cutler; Ebenezer; Frederick 
W. ; Julius Beresford ; Samuel Parker ; Mary ; Elizabeth ; Lewis 

Jonas Cutler, (son of Ebenezer,) mamed Phebe Parker, 1808. 
Children — ^Horatio Nelson, born 1809; Abby Parker, born 1813. 

Elizabeth, (daughter of Ebenezer,) man-led John Preston. 
Children — ^Ebenezer; Maria; John; Eliza; Lucy; Abigail; Maria; 
William; Thomas; Rebecca. 

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Benjamin, (son of Ebenezer,) married Mercy Parker, 1791. 
Children — Sarah, bom July 22, 1792 ; Maria, bom July 23, 1793, 
died November 1, 1796; Benjamin, born March 12, 1795, died 
November 13, 1813, an undergraduate of Dartmouth College. 

She died 1795, aged 29; married 2d wife, Rebecca Brooks, 1809. 
Children — ^Edward Walter, born Aug. 18, 1810, married Caroline 
L. Floyd, 1845 ; George Mather, bom March 6, 1812, married Lucy 
Ann Brown, 1836 ; Maria Louisa, bom November 14, 1813, married 
F. A. Cragin, 1837 ; Ellen Eliza, born October 17, 1815, married 
John Clough, 1840 ; Benjamin Crackbone, born November 22, 1817, 
^BSStS/fSB'9j^^^^fh\ Henry Trowbridge, bom September 19, 1826, 
married Lydia S. Parshley, 1849. 

Francis, (son of Ebenezer,) married Abigail Trowbridge, 1786. 
0%iifc?rew— Frances, born 1788, died 1791 ; Samuel, bom 1789, died 
1793; Abigail, born 1791, died 1793; Fanny, born 1793 ; Francis, 
2d, born 1794; Abigail, 2d, born 1796; Samuel, 2d, born 1798 ; 
Ferdinand, born 1800. 

Abig^ (daughter of Ebenezer,) married Thos. Gardner, Groton, 

1790. Children — Thomas Champney, born 1791, died, -: ; 

Abigail, bora 1792 ; Eliza, born 1794 ; John, born 1796 ; Walter ; 
George ; Mary. — [iVI L Ela. 

E. Champney was bora at Cambridge, educated at Harvard Uni- 
versity, receiving the degree of Bachelor of Arts, in 1762. He was 
at first designed for the ministry, and to that end studied Divinity, 
and preached about two years. He received a call to settle in 
township No. 1, now Mason; this was declined, and soon after he 
left this profession for that of the law. He prepared himself for 
this vocation in the office of Hon. Samuel Livermore, and was ad- 
mitted to the Bar at Portsmouth, N. H. in 1768. In June, of the 
same year, he removed to New Ipswich, and entered upon the duties 
of his profession. In the spring of 1783, Mr. Champney went to 
Groton, where he remained until 1789, was representative in 1784, 
when he returned to New Ipswich. His first commission as justice 
of the peace was received from the celebrated Gov. John Hancock, 
of Massachusetts. 

In 1795, he was appointed judge of probate for the county of 
Hillsboro. The duties of this office were appropriately discharged 
until his resignation a few months before his death. 

Judge Champney married, first, a daughter of Rev. Caleb Trow- 

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bridge, of Groton, 1764, which connected him with the distingiushed 
families of Cottons and Mathers. By this marriage he had seven 
children, three of whom died in infancy. He became a widower in 
1775, and was married again in 1778, to Abigail Parker, by whom 
he had four children. She died in 1790, and he was again married, 
in March, 1796, to Susan Wyman, who died the September follow- 

Judge Champney was a man of very respectable talents, and ex- 
ercised no inconsiderable influence in this vicinity. During the 
earlier years of his practice, he was the only lawyer between Keene 
and Groton, and had offices both at New Ipswich and the latter 
place, in conjunction with his son. The labor of attending the 
courts, at that period, was very great*, the circuit being extensive, 
and all journeys were necessarily performed on horseback. 

During the controversy between the colonies and the mother 
country, the sentiments of Mr. Champney were adverse to those 
extreme measures that led to the revolution. IJe was a moderate 
tory, and deprecating a resort to arms, believed that with prudent 
and moderate counsels, all causes of disaffection might be satisfac- 
torily adjusted. He wished to preserve his loyalty and the peace 
of the country ; but like many others who forbore to take part in 
the contest, he lived to acknowledge the benificent effects of that 
struggle which gave us our liberties and free institutions. He died 
on the 10th September, 1810, at the age of 67.— [iK L Sh. 

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Thia was tbe residence of our Grandfather, Hon. Ebbkszbb 
Champnbt, and for a long time after, that of uncle Bbi^jamik, but 
now John Pbbston, Esq.* The house was built by Samuel Hay- 
wood, and used for several years as a public house. It was what 
was called the Jo. Kidder estate at the time of the purchase by Mr. 
Haywood. It is the birthplace of Ed. W. and George M. Champney, 
and also their brother Benjamin Champney, the renowned artist 
I believe the entire family were bom in this house. All who have 
ever attended school at the center village will recognize the house 
and spot with 'interest. The noble, majestic elm, under whose 
branches we have so often rested from the scorching rays of the 
mid-day sun, during the sports at recess and noontime, is a magni- 
ficent relic left by our fathers. The office is the one occupied for a 
series of years by grandfather and uncle Benjamin, although it 
then stood in another locality, and has been somewhat enlarged by 
the present occupant. Esquire Preston, since it was moved to where 
it now stands. 

What a wonderful change has come over this country since our 
grandfather's day I He lived when there was not a white man in 
Illinois, Ohio, Kentucky, or Indiana, which were then territories, 
but now the most flourishing part of America. The broad, green 
prairies of the West were as little known as the islands of tiie moon. 
In his day Canada belonged to the French, and the whole populi^- 
tion of the United States did not exceed two and a half millions. 
He lived when the people were loyal to tiie British Empire, and 
through the struggle which established the great Republic of the 
world. He lived when there was but four newspapers, with a cir- 
culation of less than two thousand, and when cylinder presses and 
steam engines had not been dreamed of, or imagined, and railroads 
and telegraphs had not yet entered into the remotest conception of 
man's fertile brain* 

Let us imagine, for^ time, that our grandfatiier, who has been in 
his grave for a littie more than half a century, is only sleeping 
there, and we can awake him to behold the realities of this age. 

* Since the manuseript was placed in the handa of the printer, the foUowing 
painful notice appeared in the Chicago Tribune : 

" The Hon. John Fbeston, a prominent advocate of the principles of temper- 
ance and liberty among the public men of New Hampshire, died at his residence, 
in New Ipswich, on Tuesday, March 5, at the age of MJ** 

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He looks down the line of his descendants, and finds one among 
them a master of the painter's art, and he can see the Rhine in all 
its grandeur and beauty, moving before him — all the work of a 
skilful hand ; another can move at his will the huge steam-horse, 
taking along with lightning speed and power its monstrous load ; 
and still another is engaged with the electric wire in conversation 
with the people of another continent I What, think you would be 
the sensation of our noble sire at the wonderful changes that have 
taken place since his departure ! 


Benjamin Champney, eldest son of the above, was bom at 
Groton, Aug. 20, 1764. His early life was spent in the usual em- 
ployments attendant upon farming. His education was received 
from the common schools of that day, although he enjoyed the ad- 
vantages of occasional instruction in the office of his father. Before 
he completed his majority, he commenced, in the same office, the 
study of the law, and in due time prepared himself for the legal 
profession. He opened an office in Groton, in conjunction with his 
father, in 1786, and resided there until 1792, when he returned to 
New Ipswich. From this period until the time of his own decease, 
in 1826, he continued alone in the duties of his avocation. 

Few men have enjoyed the confidence of the community in which 
they lived to a greater degree than Mr. Champney. Possessed of a 
candid and liberal mind, he saw things in their true and just rela- 
tions, and was capable of weighing, in his well-balanced judgment, 
the various and complicated issues that were offered for his advice 
and adjudication. For many years he served the town as one of 
the Selectmen. He received the appointment of postmaster upon 
the removal of the office to the village, which he held for 20 years. 
He was also, for a number of years. President of the Hillsboro Bar. 
As a townsman, he was one of the foremost in devising and exe- 
cuting measures for the promotion of learning and the general im- 
provement of the town. 

He was one of the projectors and original proprietors of the first 
Cotton Factory built in New Ipswich. This enterprise was com- 
menced in 1804, in conjunction with Charles Barrett and Charles 
Robbins. [This factory, together with those that have grown put 
of it, has been of much importance to the trade and prosperity of 
the town. For a time it was a great attraction to the neighbor- 

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hood, and even to places quite remote, on account of its entire 
novelty. For some years it was conducted with much success, but 
subsequently it proved a source of loss to all concerned.] 

Mr. C. married in 1792, Mabt Paskbb. She died in 1795, hav- 
ing borne him three children. Benjamin, the only son, was en- 
dowed with rare mental qualities, and at a very early period of life 
was prepared for college. He entered the institution at Hanover in 
1812. During the first year he was accidentaly wounded in the head 
by a stone thrown by a fellow-student. The blow occasioned fits of 
an epileptic character, which compelled him to leave college. After 
sufTering increased physical and mental prostration for more than a 
year, he was found dead in his bed on the morning of Nov. 13, 1813. 

The second marriage of Mr. C. took place in October, 1809, to 
Rebecca Bbooks, of New Ipswich, a relative of the late Gov. John 
Brooks, of Mass. By this union he had seven children, all but one 
of whom are now living. 

Esquire Champney died on the 12th of May, 1827, at the age of 
63. As a gentleman, he was courteous and affable, and as a man, 
public spirited and honorable. — I^. L JTw. 



As family gatherings have become quite prevalent in our country, 
it was suggested, by one of the members of the family of Ebenezer 
Champney, late of New Ipswich, N. H., that a meeting of the 
children be held, as soon as convenient, at some place most suitable 
and convenient to all the members; consequently it became the 
desire of each that a meeting should take place. Samuel P. was 
the first to solicit the meeting be held at his house in Grafton, Mass., 
and as the old homestead had passed from the family into other 
hands, brother Samuel's proposition was readily accepted, and the 
5th of October, 1865, the day appointed for the meeting to take 
place. The family of Ebenezer Champney, or rather the children, 
consisting of five brothers and one sister, the same number that left 
the old mansion forty-two years ago. 

The meeting took place agreeable to the time appointed, and all 
were present. The most profound harmony and good feeling was 
manifested. Had there ever been any misunderstanding, one with 
another, here all was forgotten, and pure and unsullied pleasure 

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was expressed in every countenance. Most generously did brother 
Samuel provide for our coming. It was a feast of good things, and 
for one, I shaJl remember the time as a bright particular spot in my 
journey of life. As we gazed one upon the other, after so many 
long years of separation, no one missing from the group that left 
the old home so long ago, it caused the heart to beat in gratitude, 
and in joyful satisfaction. Here, at the festive board, went up the 
sUent thanksgiving of gratefhl hearts, who had been permitted once 
more to assemble together. 

I confess myself entirely incompetent to express my feelings on 
lids most interesting occasion. Memory turned to early days. The 
fresh and smiling faces of children, as we parted, now bear the 
marks of mature manhood and age, yet all were in excellent health. 
Samuel presided at the table, and remarks were made by Eben, 
Samuel, Elizabeth, and Lewis. The address by Julius. 

Samuel thanked the brothers and sister for the honor conferred 
by appointing the meeting at his house, and brother Julius for his 
address, and gave as a sentiment : 

*' This imperfect gathering of our family — may it be perfected above.*' 
Bt Elizabeth — "It is good for us to be here, and may the same take place 
many times in iiitare." 

The remarks given by the others are not in my possession, and 
therefore cannot be given. 

The following day we repaired to Worcester, where we sit for a 
group picture, and obtained an excellent one of the entire family. 
We made a brief visit to the Antiquarian Hall, where there is much 
to interest those who love to look and ponder on the past. Our 
attention was particularly drawn toward the portrait of that staunch 
old puritan. Cotton Mather, whose blood flows in our veins, and for 
the crime of which some of our democratic friends have talked 
about leaving us out in the cold, as a punishment; but the descen- 
dants of that stock have most emphatically decided to remain 
within the comfortable enclosure of the old Union. 

We left Worcester for New Ipswich, N. H., the place of our 

" That spot of earth supremely blest^ 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.'* 

The cars brought us to Mason village, where we took stage for the 
remainder of the way; and we now came upon old familiar grounds, 

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BXki in ridmg over the hills and through the valleys, the mind wa^ 
away back to youthful days. It was dark when we arrived iu town, 
but I had not forgotten the way to the residence of kind friends and 
relatives, and was soon in comfortable quarters. So — 

" I have €ome to see, once more, 

Tha dear haunts I loved of yore. 

Comrades of my early years, 

Where are now your smiles and tear&^ 

Smiles of welcome, tears of joy, 

Greeting home the long lost boy ? . 

Silence palls my listening ear, 

Few familiar voices here. 

On the grave-stone, gray and cold, 

The sad tale is briefly told." 

We paid a visit to the old mansion where we were all bom, and 
scanned, with deeper interest than ever before, every room, from 
cellar to garret. It was where we roomed in our infancy ; it was 
the home of our childhood ! rhe house stands in all its primitive 
glory, but the hand of progress and improvement has destroyed the 
interest and beauty of its surroundings. 

The stone step before the door was still there, and not yet worn 
out ; and I noticed the broad iron door-latch and handle, of which 
I retain 2k painful recollection, as I had the curiosity, when a child, 
to place my tongue upon its smooth surface one cold frosty morning. 
The adhesion proved to be so great that I left a portion of it fast to 
the unyielding metal. This is one of the early impressions which 
has lasted me until now. Still I am not prepared to say that I have 
always profited by the lesson ; ,yet it taught me the importance of 
keeping a good control over that unruly member. 

By the hospitable kindness of Mrs. Pritchard, we were shown 
into every room in the house. She removed the fire-board from 
the kitchen fire-place, and there we stood before that venerated 
place, as in days of old we huddled round the blazing fire — ^nothing 
changed in the least. The crane, that long years ago had done its 
work, was still there, a faithful relic of olden time. 

Within the south-east chamber we paused for reflection. Here 
is where we first drew breath, and where our father ceased to 
breathe. Here we commenced our mortal life. Here our father 
put on the robes of immortality: Here he held my hand, and gave 
his dying benediction. 

The garret, the uppermost room, also has its history. It con- 
tained the spinning-wheel, and the loom, where mother made the 

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clothes we wore, and around wMcli our clattering voices sounded 
in unison with the hum of the wheel and the noise of the shuttle. 
Here was found imprinted in the plastering, over the fire-place m 
this room, " 1787,*' which is supposed to be the year the house was 
built The figures were made by the end of the finger, when the plas- 
tering was put on. We partook of the fruit from the trees planted 
by our fathers, and drank again of the pure water at the old welL 

With the many pleasing incidents attending our visit to the home 
of our childhood, it was nevertheless intermingled with sadness 
and gloom. We stood at the tombs of our fathers, and walked in 
the city of the dead. A large proportion of our young comrades, 
schoolmates and kindred, have been gathered to their last resting 
place. We could read upon the stones the names so familiar 
in days long gone by. Silently they repose while we write off 
the inscriptions given in these few and imperfect pages. With a 
heavy heart we turn from the sad scene and wend our way to other 
localities, all of which will be remembered with heartfelt interest. 

I would not forget the dear cousins who received and entertained 
us so kindly. Abby Parker Champney, that was, now Mrs. Bello w^s, 
the last one to bear our name in the town, is entitled to our thanks 
and gratitude for the interest taken to render our visit pleasant and 
agreeable. Cousin John Preston we met under very distressing 
circumstances, having had his leg recently amputated. These kind 
friends and relatives will be retained in memory dear. 

At the house of Mr. Bellows we met the venerable Il^aham Parker, 
of Middleborough, Vt, who is a relative, and with whom Stephen 
A. Douglas served his apprenticeship at the cabinet business. We 
parted at the old mansion for our several homes, as in days of yore, 
with no probability of ever meeting again here. 

On my way I called on cousins Walter and George Champney, 
merchants in Boston, and doing business in Devonshire-Street. 
Although many years had intervened since we met, I was recog- 
nized at first sight, and my call made pleasant. From here I went 
to Central Wharf, and found Frederick Eddder, an old school-mate, 
whom I had not seen since we were children together, learning our 
primary lessons at school, at the old house on the corner. Mr. 
ladder is deeply interested in the welfare of our native town, and 
is the author of its history. Every one hailing from that town owe 
him a debt of gratitude for the labor and expense of getting up 
that interesting and valuable work. He holds many prominent po- 
sitions in the historical societies of our country, being deeply en- 

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gaged in everything pertaining to that subject. His father, Isaiah 
Kidder, was one of the most enterprising business meii New Ipswich 
ever produced, but he died in his early manhood and usefulness. 
His name will be remembered so long as the mountain stands that 
bears his name I 

I now turned my face Westward, to my far distant home on the 
banks of the Illinois. Two days and nights brought me safe and 
sound to the door of my own hxunble dwelling, and to the embrace 
of loved ones there — ^happy in the reflection of meeting so many of 
my kindred and friends once more in life. 


'^Beceived and read at the Family Gathering,'] 

Mt Deab Cousin, S. P.: — 

Your kind letter, of the 11th September, I intended to do 
myself the pleasure of answering in person. But it has been decided that a wed. 
ding shall come off about that time, so I must forego the pleasure I did anticipate 
in mingling with the children of Uncle Eben on the 6th. I have but a few 
moments to write before the last mail for the day leaving, therefore cannot say 
what the heart feels. 

My childhood days were spent in the old house by the river, in full view of 
uncle Eben's, on the hill. How many summer evenings have I listened to the 
notes of the clarionet with perfect delight, played by your father ! No one since 
have I ever heard play that instrument as your father could. I was always glad 
to be present where he was — ^he always brought so much pleasantry into all he 
did. He made labor a cheerful employment, and in the social circle was the de- 
light of all. Your father kept posted with the improvements of the day. He had 
a progressive mind. No stand-still to him. After I grew up and entered upon 
the active scenes of life, while in the store of Samuel Batchelder, I had a better 
opportunity to judge of your father. He was no ordinary man. I could say much 
of him during the last few years of his life, but must defer until another time. 

The first Champney known came over with William the Conqueror, and fought 
at the battle of Hastings. William built Battle Abby, knighted thirty of his 
bravest warriors, and recorded their names in Battle Abby. Among those names 
was Sir Henry Champney, and from him are traced directly down to our grand- 
father, Hon. Eben'r Champney. One of the descendants was Lord Mayor of the 
city of London. The proud grandees of old England esteem it the height of 
aristocracy when they can trace their ancestors to Battle Abby. So you see we 
may be proud of the race ! 

My kind love to your wife and Miss Susie, and Master Eben. My kind saluta- 
tions to your brothers all, and I would welcome them to our home. 

Ever your affectionate Cousin, SAMUEL. 

P. S. When in the sparkling glass of pure cold water, or a cup of old Hyson, 
you drink to the health of absent friends, remember your Cousin Samuel T. is one 
true and earnest ! 

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Oar meeting together at tins time most remind ne nD of oar early days. How 
▼iridly comes before the miod the home of oar childhood ! The author of 
''Home, sweet home," by that simple and affecting song, strnck a powerful chord 
in the human heart with a master hand ; and from city to dty, from hill to hill, 
and ralley to ralley, from nation to nation, and frtym shore to shore, its librations 
hare echoed and re-echoed, until almost erery ciyilised people in the world are 
iinging in its mother tongue, " Home, home, sweet, raeel home." 

The lore of some spot where our cares may be dissipated, and our labors find 
repose ; where our affections may linger ere they go forth in the wide world, and 
where they may return after their weary and disappointed pilgrimage, sure to find 
sympathy for erery sorrow. This affection of the human heart is unirersal to our 
race. The lore of home goes with us whererer we may roam, and the expectation 
of home nerres erery struggle we make against the heaTing and dashing waves of 
disappointment and trial. 

WhercTcr I have wandered in life, I have seen change following change — 
friends alienated, companions deserting each other, and even the CTerlasting hills, 
and the deep-fixed ralleys undergoing change, and unexpected mutations. But I 
conceiTC of no such change going on at home. The heart fondly lingers over the 
memory of that dear spot, and all its tender and endeared accompaniments as its 
image was first impressed there, years and years ago. The sorrowing babe clings 
to its mother's breast ; the bleeding dove flies to her natiTC vale, and nestles 
there to die amid the quiet grore where first she tried her tender pinion. I could 
lore thus to repose amid the peaceful scenes of memory dear. How passing sweet 
to rest forever on this lovely spot where passed my days of innocence and child- 
hood, to dream of the pure stream of infant happiness. I look back upon my 
youthful home, and in that ever revered mansion I see my parents, brothers and 
sister, gathered together at the fire-side, the home circle unbroken, and although 
the storm may beat, and the tempest roar without, there is true happiness within. 
The same playful children I last beheld them near half a century ago. The trees 
growing as they then grew, the hills and valleys seem as they did to my youthful 
mind — ^the same sober watch-dog still in the yard ; the same cat drowses and purs 
her sleepy song upon the hearth-stone. 

All the world is changing, and has changed ; yet I can scarcely bring my mind 
to think my early home has changed with it. The heart desires one spot on all 
this earth where melancholy changes may not mark the images which fond affec- 
tion has treasured up; where the tides of Time shall not bear our playmates 
onward to mature years and altered feelings ; where death shall not close the 
kindly beaming eye of affection, and fill the clod and the grassy turf on the once 
heaving bo^m of goodness and worth. We desire one, at least <ms spot in this 
changing world, where innovation, under the pretence of utility, may not lay low 
the trees under whose shade the happiest moments of life were passed, or destroy 
the green where sport succeeded sport for many a live-long holiday ; where neglect 
may not allow the destroyer, Time, to level in the dust the pile where we first 
drew brea^, and on leaving which we drew the deepest sigh ; where the green 
graves of our fathers may not be trampled on as common earth. 

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But change mast come, and wHen years cm. years have rolled away while In duh 
iant lands, let my feet once more tread the well-known haunts of eariy years, and 
0, how changed will all appear ? The rugged hills seem but a small hillock ; th# 
deep hollow seems but a very small valley. The capacious scfaool-house—can this 
be the one ? And the large meeting-house, where in youth I strained my eyes to 
find its limits — ^is it possible this is that venerable place ? And these are not its 
bitterest changes— the gray-haired, and the middle-aged, where are they. The 
generation in which they lived and died has almost forgotten them, and the mono* 
ments erected to their memory are leaning over their graves and gathering green- 
Bess on the inscriptions. I converse of those I once knew and loved, and am 
informed that one by one has passed away. One became wealthy and selfi^ 
another poor and misanthropic ; one has grown bloated in vice and corruption, 
and gone down to the grave in degradation and shame ; another, as changed as he, 
still lives in successful but miserable villainy and crime. One is th^ tenant of a 
prison, another of a mad-house, and a third subsists on the bounty of his friends. 
Some have wandered to the ends of the earth and been heard of no more ; while 
others are still living in body, but dead, worse than dead, in all that constitutei 
them men, besotted with drink, their minds are debased and enfeebled, and theitf 
mouths filled with cursing and blasphemy. How few, how very few, still survive 
as we knew them in early youth, unchanged in heart, improved in mind, and ex* 
alted in true nobility of soul. Change, desolation and decay has left its mark 
around the home of our childhood. Still — 

"The loud torrent and the whirlwinds roar. 
But binds me to my native mountains more.'* 

The hardy laborer, far from his lonely cot, and humble family, toils on from day 
to day, and from week to week, that at the last he may return to his home and 
make it glad with the scanty reward his labor has won. And when the great 
sweat-drops, wrung from his brow, plash upon the ground, and his giant limbs tire 
with long continued exertion, when his zeal grows cold, and his heart becomes 
heavy with wearinessi, what is it that nerves his arm, warms his heart, and ani- 
mates him to redoabled exertions and industry for his task ? Thoughts of his 
loved ones, visions of his dear, dear home. In fancy the lowly hut rises before 
him, calling for repairs without, and replenishing within, that it may resound with 
the shouts of infantile gladness, and the songs of contented industry and comfort. 
He sees his faithfal companion ptoviding for his return ; his children looking out 
on the far spreading plain, or to the distant hill-top, to catch the first glimpse of 
their weary father, that they may hasten to welcome his return, and rejoice, with 
noisy glee, over the fraits of his hard-handed toil. The man who provides a plen- 
tiful and pleasant home for his family is one of the noblest works of creation, but 
he who neglects his household should be classed beneath the brutes that perish. 

It is related of Napoleon that he was riding late one day over a field of battle, 
gazing stem and unmoved on the dying and the dead that strewed the ground by 
thousands about him, when suddenly "those evening bells struck up a merry 
peal.*' The Emperor paused to listen ; his heart had softened ; memory was busy 
with the past ; he was no longer the conqueror of Austerlitz, but the innocent, 
happy school boy of Braintz, and, dismounting from his horse, he seated himself 
on the stump of a tree, and, to the astonishment of him who relates the ciroum- 

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Stance, bunt into teart. The rock was smitten, mnd living waters came gush- 
ing out. The memories of childhood, the long, far away days of boyhood, the 
mother's lore and prayers, the Toice of a departed play-fellow, the ancient church 
and schoolhouse, in all their green and hallowed associations, came upon the heart, 
most clearly in the autumn of life, and seems like the passage of a pleasantly 
remembered dream. 

Our forefathers were of the puritan stock; the blood of the Matbbss courses in 
our veins. Perhaps but few of us retain that stem and uncompromising religion 
to which they adhered so strictly, but human nature is about the same the world 
over, and with our &thers as now, although they came over the great waters to 
escape oppression, and live in the enjoyment of civil and religious freedom, they, 
in time, became intolerant, and persecuted for opinion's sake. They left their 
native country for that which they refused to others, and this spirit of oppression 
still remains in this land called democratic. 

Our fathers found this the home of the red man ; but alas, where are the origi- 
nal sons of the forests and the natives of the soil ? '* Lo, the poor Indian." The 
white man's corn grows on his father's grave ; his cattle feed where once his 
forests stood. Their council fires are forever dead. The white man's poison 
mixes with their blood and maddens in their veins. They drink the deadly 
draught the pale face gives, and fall as fall the leaves from off the forest oaks. 
The malediction of the blighted Indian heart rests on the white man's dwelling, 
and it will ever be a shadow round his path black as the dreaded thunder, and it 
will ever feed upon his heart, and revel in the bosoms of his sons. The right to 
deprive the red man of his home, and drive him from the land of his birth is a 
question for others to decide ; but one thing is certain, their humiliation is com- 
plete, and the pages of American history will hereafter be more free from the red 
records of midnight conflagrations and murder. 

To make home happy, pleasant and attractive, we should encourage innocent 
amusements in the family circle. Americans are not surpassed in their love and 
patronage of public amusements, but there is scarcely a people who cultivate 
home amusements less. The English are said to be peculiarly given to home 
amusements, and they are proverbally and beyond doubt a home people. The 
Englishman clings to his country and its customs with the greatest tenacity. 
Place hun in a garden of Eden, outside of England, and he would turn to the old 
home-land as the only bright particular spot, most beautiful of earth. The half 
h(yneless Frenchman must go into the Cafe, the Theater, or other places of public 
society. His companions are all abroad. Hence liis slender regard for the 
domestic virtues. My own experience seems to warrant me in saying that 
Americans are quite too much on the side of the French in regard to their social 
habits. It is painful to believe that we, as a people, as Americans, should be 
found wanting in our domestic, social relations. For one, I honor the Englishman 
for his love of home, which is his first, last, and ever dearest resort. There he 
rears his shrine, and sets up his idols. He thinks no other place like home, or 
comparable to it, and he thinks well. So long as home is held dear and sacred we 
have the basis of the purest and fairest humanity. The secret of the matter is 
with this people, they cultivate a continual round of national home games and 
festivities. Delightful and blessed in all their influences are such home amuse- 
ments; pleasant in their present eigoyment, and dear in their after memory. 

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They are, the paradise of childhood, and the tenderest recollections of age. They 
can but soften and elevate the heart and refine the mind. Sentiment must be 
kindlier, and morality purer, fostered by such surroundings. How charming the 
amenities of such social existence — parents and children, brothers and sisters, 
mingling from preference in home pleasures, and seeking most to make home 
happy. This is a spirit of which Americans should be more emulous. We had 
more of it once, more especially in New England in the days of our youth, but the 
genius of traffic, money-getting, and restless adventure has well nigh driven it 
away. We should make it our continual study to have our home the center of all 
attraction, and our children, and all who come under our care and anxiety, will 
never leave for the dram-shop and the brothel, those dens of swift destruction 
which has caused sorrow, deep and heavy, to rest upon the heart of many a fond 
parent. Home has associated with it the most endearing name in the whole Eng- 
lish language — 'tis that of "Mother." It melts the most hardened heart. Who 
has not felt the power of a mother's influence and a mother's love ? Who has not 
seen it softening the indurated heart, making the bold oflfender bow in gushing 
tears of sorrow, and sending better thoughts to the soul long steeped in iniquity. 
I will relate an incident which took place in our country some years since, show- 
ing the power of a mother's influence over a wayward and lost son. Previous to 
the destruction of the Walnut-Street prison, Philadelphia, and before the con- 
victs were removed to Mayamanging, one of our leading philanthropists was per- 
mitted to visit it, which he did in 1835, and I will give his own account of his visit 
and experience. 

" Beneath the eastern wing, projecting into the yard of the prison is a long- 
arched passage, dimly lighted with one or two lamps fastened to the masonry of 
the wall. Doorways at the side of this long subterranean chamber opened into 
dark arched cells, where no ray of light but by the door, could find entrance, and 
where all that is imagined of the solitary and subterranean dungeon holes of feudal 
castles might be fully realized. Strong, massiv^e chains were fastened to the floor 
and the grating, and the thick, iron-studded doors now thrown down, showed that 
an attempt to escape must have been futile. No prisoner has occupied these hor- 
rible abodes for nearly forty years. The last prisoner had been thrown in for 
some crime out of the usual course, and perished miserably without making his 
voice heard. What must have been the sensations of the poor wretch thus to 
feel his life passing away in the horrors of famine and darkness." 

The upper rooms on Walnut-Street are, we believe, chiefly used for the sick, 
and so, also, with one or two in the rear. Beyond these, in the upper story, is a 
series of cells, wherein are confined several prisoners for various degrees of 
crime and atrocity. We passed to this place over a bridge, and it seemed to us a 
bridge of sighs. Heavy chains rattled at the doors of the corridors that passed 
between the range of cells, and numerous heavy bars were removed, and strong 
locks turned before the iron doors rolled heavy upon their reluctant hinges. We 
could see through the gratings the miserable prisoner stretched out upon the 
floor of his narrow abode. Little curious to ascertain what had caused the dis- 
turbance, being certain that it could not reach through the iron of his dungeon 
or suspend the steady, galling operation of the deep and just vengeance of the 
law. We paused at the grating of a cell, and the gentleman who accompanied us 
spoke to the inmate. The voice was that of kindness, and it was evident that the 


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prisoner wms med to that tone from the keeper. He stepped forward from the 
dark rear of the cell and placed himself against the grated door. Ten loDg years 
had been passed in durance by this offender agunst onr laws, and a strong iron 
frame, that had stood np against war and the elements, was yielding as a conse- 
quence of inaction. A strong light from an open grate in the passage where we 
stood, fell on the pallid features of the prisoner, and placed him in bold relief 
in the dark ground of his unlit cell. The multitude in the yard and work-shops 
were busy. They seemed little different from the inmates of an alms-house ; their 
number and movements proTented reflection, but here was food for thought. 
Hope had almost ceased with the man. Sixteen years of his sentence were yet 
unexpired, and there was scarcely a ground to expect that he would survive that 
length of time in confinement. With this world thus receding, we questioned him 
of his hopes of that towards which he was fast hastening. His mind was clouded ; 
there was a lack of favorable early impressions, and he seemed to share in the 
common feelings of convicts, that his crime had not been more than that of men 
who had escaped with less punishment ; and when we asked him of his sense of 
guilt toward Him who was yet to be his judge, the poor man coofessed his offense, 
but so mingled that confession with comparisons of crime, that we feared he saw 
darkly the path of duty. There was no complaint, much humility, much sense of 
degradation distinguished his speech, and a deep sense of gratitude toward the 
keeper who accompanied us was manifest in his manner and language. Having 
answered the questions he put to us on important subjects with what little ability 
we had, and added that advice which mankind are more ready to give than to 
follow, we prepared to depart. A slight flush came over the cheek of the prisoner 
as he pressed his forehead against the bars of his cell, and his hand, which long 
absence from labor and from light, had blanched to the luster of infancy, was 
thrust through the aperture, not boldly to seize ours, not meanly to solicit, but 
rather as if in the hope that accident might favor him with a contact. Man, 
leprous with crime, is human, and a warm touch of pity passes with electric swift- 
ness to the heart. Tears, from that fountain that had long been deemed dried up, 
fell fast and heavy upon the dungeon floor. The keeper had moved away from 
the gate, and we were about to follow, when the prisoner said, in a low voice: 
*^ One word more, if you please. Tou seem to understand these things — do the 
spirits of the departed ever come back to witness the actions and situation of the 
living ?" Many people believe it, we replied, and the Scriptures say that there 
18 joy in heaven over a sinner that repenteth on earth. It may, therrfore, be 
true. "It may be," said the man. " My poor, poor mother ! 1" That fearful im- 
prisonment could not touch him, but when the thought came rushing into his 
mind that his mother witnessed his situation, his degradation, imprisonment, and 
sufferings, his heart felt its power, and he bowed before the shrine of that 
mother's memory, who had watched over him in infancy, and with maternal care 
and fondness, sought every method to secure his happiness and welfare." 

What a flood of recollections come sweeping across the mind at the mention of 
the name "mother!" From earliest childhood, mature manhood, to old age, 
when the frosts of many winters has whitened the looks, she it is, ever has been, 
and ever will be the guiding star of my existence. In the dark days of despair, 
when the soul is enveloped in the shades of night, what like a mother's hand can 
rend the veil asunder and let the glad rays of joy into the dark chambers of the 

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heart, turning despair into hope, and darkness into light. A mother closing the 
dying eyes of her child, or mourning over her first born, displays a grief whose 
very sacredness is sablime. 

Thomas H. Benton gives a touching tribute of his mother's influence over him. 
He says : " My mother asked me never to use tobacco. I have never touched it 
from that time to the present day. She asked me not to game, and I have never 
gambled, and I cannot tell who is winning and who is losing in games that are 
played. She admonished me, too, against hard drinking, and whatever influences 
I may attain in life, I attribute to having complied with her pious and correct 
wishes. When I was seven years of age, she asked me not to drink, and I then 
made a resolution of that abstinance at a time when I was sole constituent mem- 
ber of my own body, and I have adhered to it through all time. I owe it to my 

The late President, Abraham Lincoln, of whom one writer says approached 
more nearly to the angelic nature than any other person, women not excepted, 
retained a vivid impression of his mother's virtues, and a tender feeling of obliga- 
tion to her. He once said to his partner : " All that I am I owe to my mother." 

Should we visit the home of our childhood, we shall find that the progress of 
the age with its improvements, has destroyed the beauty and interest of that 
lovely spot, and our mother is not there ! She sleeps among the tombs of our 
fathers. It is but a few years since the magnificent country where I now live, 
(Illinois,) lay in solitude, the home only of the wild man. The vast prairies now 
gladden the eye with the habitation of civilized man and the hum of industry. 
The path of the traveler was indicated by the compass, like the mariner upon the 
high seas ; now the track of the railroad is running in every direction, and at every 
hour of the day is heard the shrill whistle and the proud tread of the iron horse. 

The celebrated Dr. Samuel Johnson, after many long years of absence from the 

place of his birth, returned and sought out the old mansion, and as he came up in 

i front of the house, he uncovered his head and stood motionless for an hour. 

Childhood, with all its happy associations, thrilled his heart and rushed upon his 

memory, and he felt that he was a child again. 

In all my travels over the rich and fertile soil of the great Weet, I find no hills 
or valleys to compare with those around my birth-place ; no river so interesting 
as the Souhegan, which ran directly through our father's farm ; no college or 
house for learning ever impressed upon the mind the importance of the old school 
house on the corner, but which has long since been removed. Many of us will 
remember the deep snows of winter through which we plodded our way to learn 
our first lessons at school. Some of us will not have forgotten the old thanksgiv 
ing dinner prepared by our now sainted mother. We can all say that in our- 
experience in life we have never seen any happiness to surpass that enjoyed 
around the old fire-side at home. Yes, should we visit the old homestead we shall 
find that Time has wrought its work there. But few of the old landmarks will bo 
left, and but few, very few, of our youthful associates to point them out to us. 

The old pine tree on Whittemore hill, so faithfully rendered in the New Ipswich 
book, and which . has stood against the elements so long, has at last fallen. Its 
dead and withered trunk has finally given way to the all-destroyer. Time. How 
sad to think that we shall never again behold the old pine tree ! The rocks and 
the hills are still there 

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The most happy and interesting scenes of life are experienced in youth, in 
childhood. Early associations can never be erased from the mind ; they go with us 
from the rising to the setting sun, from the river to the ends of the earth. And — 

** Oft may the spirit of the dead descend, 

To watch the silent slumbers of a friend ; 

To hover round his evening walk unseen, 

And hold sweet converse on the dusky green ; 

To hail the spot where once their friendship grew, 

As heaven and nature opened to their view ! 

Oft, when he trims his cheerful hearth and sees 

A smiling circle emulous to please ; 

There may these gentle guests delight to dwell, 

And bless the scenes they loved in life so well !" 

Nearly a half century has passed away since we left the parental roof, and were 
scattered over the earth. We now come together laden in years, having passed 
from childhood to maturity, and on to declining age. 

How like the shadow upon the dial, thought is ever returning to the place of 
beginning — where we first began to live — where we first began to love — to the 
homestead, the play-ground, and the graves of our fathers. Yes, the mind is ever 
looking back to the days of childhood, that season of real happiness in lifers 
commencement, free from all care and anxiety experienced in after life. Scarcely 
a day passes in which I am not reminded, in some way, of my early days, when we 
were all living together at the paternal home. It is many long years since the 
home-band was broken, and we were scattered like autumn leaves. What sweet 
memories are now realized by this home group as we turn our thoughts to the old 
family mansion where we first saw the light of day. For a long time I have felt 
anxious to once more behold the spot where I roamed in my youth ; to stand upon ^ 
the ground I trod with infant feet, and gaze on the scenes so familiar years and 
years ago. We were born among the rocks and hills, and on a sterile soil ; still 
the mind wanders there, and many of the impressions of that time has served me 
to the present day. The hardened ruffian, and the abandoned wanton, defying the 
world's censure, melt into tears at the recollections of their early days ; when all 
other appeals fail, these rays of sunshine soften and subdue. 

We come together, after many long years of absence, in one family group. 
How changed ! Time has laid his hand upon us all, and the features bear the 
marks of years. The frosts and snows of many winters has thinned and whitened 
the locks, yet I trust we have not lived in vain. I feel proud to say that there is 
no traitor among us, and none to sympathize with treason. Where will be found 
a family of our number who have sacrificed more to rescue our country from a 
dark and dismal future? "Palsied be the tongue that ever wags for treason, or 
the hand that's raised to cut the jugular vein of. our glorious commonwealth." 

I am proud of my brothers, and my kindred, whose sons are now sleeping in 
Southern graves. I rejoice also to know that the demon of the cup has not bound 
any one of us with its galling chains of iron, and that we have shunned the Dead 
Sea fruits where millions have died. Not one comes here at this gathering with 
the palsied and tottering step of the miserable inebriate. 

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It is true we have lived and moved in humble life ; we are not distinguished in 
honors, or in wealth. Our names are not written high upon the scroll of fame ; 
we claim only a life of honest industry, and as we near the shore of the great 
River, we look back with no feelings of remorse or regret, and when we cross, we 
hope to be met by our dear loved or.Cw«?, and tlie angel hosts that have gone 
before, with greetings of welcome to the sunny clime. And when we have gone 
from earth, let it be written upon our tomb-stone, and perhaps some poor African 
may cast his eye upon the inscription and read: "Here lies the body of one who 
in life was a friend to the race, and whose hand was never raised to oppress a 
fellow being, even though his skin were dark and his intellect weak." And as we 
gaze upon the scene from our high abode, it will add to our pleasure and happiness 
as we journey on in the Celestial City. 


Ebenezer Champney, Esq., son of Ebenezer, born New Ipswich, 
N. H., July 19, 1780. 

Mehitable Goodridge, born Fitchburg, Mass, August 29, 1782. 

Married by Rev. D. Chaplain, in Groton, Mass., November 
8, 1803. 

Children:— r 
Ebenezee Nichols, born New Ipswich, May 8, 1804. Died 

July 21, 1807. 
Jonas Cutler, born New Ipswich, January 29, 1806. 
Ebenezer, born New Ipswich, March 8, 1808. 
Ffed Wm., born New Ipswich, October 18, 1809. Died April 

16, 1810. 
Julius Beresford, born New Ipswich, February 12, 1811. 
Samuel Parker, born New Ipswich, October 24, 1813. 
Mary, born New Ipswich, January 7, 1816. Died March 

10, 1816. 
Elizabeth, born New Ipswich, March 9, 1817. 
Lewis Clark, born New Ipswich, May 19, 1819. 


Ebenezer Champney, father of the group, was born 1780, in 

the farm house owned at the time by his father, and for a long 

series of years by Benjamin, bis brother, now by John Preston, 

Esq., in New Ipswich, N. H. Of his childhood I can glean but 

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little, beside his being possessed of a kind and gentle disposition, 
which he ever manifested during his short life. He inherited the 
farm adjoining the one where he was bom, and resided there until 
his death. He married Mehitablb Goodridge, and had nine 
children ; three died young, the others are still living, and are rep- 
resented in these pages. He died in 1820, of consumption — ^pale, 
ghastly consumption — ^that blighting, withering scourge, which 
always takes for its victims the fairest and best of earth's inhabi- 
tants. In those days the town bell tolled the age of all who died, 
and when it struck out forty, the people knew very well where the 
grim messenger had made his calL He was a devoted husband 
and a kind father; always pleasant and cheerful, striving at all 
times to make his home the most attractive of all places. 

There is but one of this generation now living. His sister, 
Elizabeth, (Mrs. Preston,) survives all the others, many years, and 
at the age of 84, 1 received an interesting letter from her, written 
by her own hand. It was remarkably well done, and breathes that 
affection and kindness towards the children of her brother in the 
same spirit manifested in her younger days. She was born in the 
same house where her brother Eben was, and were always affec- 
tionate one to the other. Aunt Preston has been an excellent 
woman ; has acted her part in life well and faithfully. Her life has 
been a noble example of true womanhood, and now, at the time of 
writing, like the golden grain, fully ripe, is ready for the harvest. 

During our father's protracted sickness he was never known to 
murmur or repine, and as late as the month of August previous to 
his death, which took place in November, two barns, filled with 
hay and grain, were struck by lightning and totally destroyed. 
The loss was very severe, and he at the time prostrate, and in the 
last stages of his sickness, yet he spoke encouragingly to his 
children while the devouring flames swept every thing away. I 
remember of his saying that there would be some way provided, 
that we should not suffer ; and sure enough, in two weeks time a 
nice large barn occupied the place of the ones consumed, built by 
the voluntary contril>ution8 and labors of the citizens. The writer 
was not ten years old when this took place, and he has not yet re- 
covered from the shock. A dread and timid feeling comes over me 
at the lightning's flash and the thunder's roar. 

About two years previous to our father's death, a sad calamity 
took place in the neighborhood, and which cast a deep gloom over 
the entire place. Two boys, Benjamin Champney and Milo Cragen, 

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one ten and the other twelve, if my memory serves me right, spent 
the afternoon at oar house in play with the boys. As night ap- 
proached they left, as we supposed, for their homes, but they went 
instead, to the river to bathe. Morning came, and the father of 
Benjamin called in search of his son, who had not been home. 
Being told that he left a little before night the afternoon previous, 
for his home, in company with his comrade, the father became 
overwhelmed with fear that some evil had befallen his boy. A 
further search proved his fears to be well grounded. On the bank 
of the river, below the old factory dam, lay the clothes, and in the 
deep water was found floating the dead bodies of the two boys. 
Our father took the children to look upon the cold, rigid forms of 
our young comrades, with whom we were so recently engaged in 
juvenile sports. This was another shock to the nerves of youth 
which is as lasting as life. The boy Benjamin, I believe, was a 
distant relative. 

I have a vivid recollection of the imposing Masonic ceremonies 
which took place at the burial of our father. A deeply solemn 
tone seemed to pervade the countenances of all who were in the 
procession. The dazzling regalia, the monotonous music, the 
measured tread in the funeral march, and the doleful sound of the 
tolling bell, as it floated away in mid-air, made up a scene of great 
solemnity, and a lasting impression upon the hearts of us children. 
And at the grave, the depositing of the sprigs of evergreen after 
the remains were placed therein, emblematical of immortal lile, and 
of a living faith therein. This was the last of earth. 

Our father left six children — ^five sons and one daughter. Our 
mother survived him twenty years, and she died June 24, 1840. 
Her remains, together with those of the three children, are resting 
beside his own, in what is called the new burying ground, in New 
Ipswich, not far from the spot where he was born. 

Jonas Cutler, the oldest of the group, married Evelina B. 
Allen, a native of Boston, Mass., July 14, 1828. 

Children : — 
Evelina B., born Danvers, Mass., February 8, 1829. 

Jane E *' \ '^^"^®> ^^^^ Leominster, Mass., November 24, 1831. 
Fred W., born Hancock, Mass., August 25, 1833. 
Eliza M., born Hancock, Mass., June 1, 1835. 

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Obcelia H., born Hancock, August 9, 1837. 

Lewis A., born Hancock, December 2, 1839. Died at City 

Point, Va., June 20, 1864. 
Sarah A., born South Adams, February 22, 1843. 


A c STA ' i "^^^^^j horn South Adams. Augusta died young. 
Armenia, born South Adams. 

Evelina B., married B. T. Sanders, of Pittsfield, Mass., June 
25, 1848. 

Children: — 
George A., born South Adams, December 6, 1849. 
Clarence E., born South Adams, June 9, 1851. 
Augusta E., born South Adams, September 10, 1854. 

WiLLAR^'c \ '^wins, born South Adams, June 14, 1867. 

Eva O., born South Adams, July 11, 1859. 
Henry A., born South Adams, June 1, 1861. 
Lewis A., born South Adams, September 14, 1864. 

Jonas A., married Koralia E. Haskel, of Montague, Mass., 
January, 1851, at Lebanon. 

Children : — 
Jane E., born Lee, Mass., November 22, 1860. 
Jonas A., born South Adams, October 8, 1862. 

Jane E., married David Leach, of Manchester, England, May 
18, 1854. 

Children : — 
Herbert E., born South Adams, July 5, 1865. 

Fred W., man-ied Ai.mira J. Hayle, of Tolborton, Georgia, 
November 3, 1859. 

Children : — 
Harriet B., born Columbus, Ga., November 17, 1860. 
Mary L. A., born South Adams, August 30, 1865. 

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CO . 




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Eliza M., married Chad. Field, of Chester, Mass., November 
24, 1858. 

Children: — 
Adella M., born South Adams, Mass., October 25, 1860. 
Freddie A., born South Adams, September 1, 1862. 
Minnie C, born South Adams, July 6, 1864. 

Orcelia H., married Lbroy Perkins, of Burlington, Vt., 
February 25, 1863. 

Lewis C, married Kate A. Lyons, of Constable, N. Y., October 
2, 1862. 

Children : — 
Lewis H., born South Adams, July 20, 1863. Died September 
30, 1863. 

Sarah A., married George W. Dodge, of Pittsfield, Mass., 
July 9, 1864. 

Children : — 
Myrtie a., bom South Adams, April 23, 1865. 


Jonas Cutler Champney, second son, born January 29, 1806. 
Left home soon after the death of his father, at an early age, to 
learn the machinist trade, at Dover, N. H. He became one of the 
most skilful mechanics in the country. He married Evelina B. 
Allen, and has lived for many years in South Adams, Mass., 
where he has raised a large family of children. He is known 
throughout that section of country for his superior skill as a me- 
chanic. The town clock in that village is a specimen of his handi- 
work, which has beat the time to the inhabitants of that place for 
many years. It is said to be a rare piece of workmanship. He 
has sought out many inventions in the mechanical arts, and is still 
engaged in the building of machinery, and the business of an iron 

During the war of the rebellion he had four sons in the Union 

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army, all the boys he had. Two of them were killed and two 
survived. One fell at the storming of Petersburg, and the other 
was wounded at the battle of the Wilderness. It is supposed that 
he died in prison. The remains of Lbwis C. have been received 
and buried at home, while those of Augustus sleep in an unknown 
grave in Southern soil. The following notice is taken from a paper 
published in Pittsfield, Mass. : 

"The remains of corporal L. C. OHAMPiniT, of South Adams, member of Co. A, 
12th Begiment, who f?Il in defense of his country in one of the battles before 
Petersburg, last June, arrived at South Adams on the 13th, and was buried with 
military honors on the 16th. He was a brother of Gapt. Ghahpnet, of the 87th 
Begiment, and was a young man highly respected, and one who had a large circle 
of friends in Adams. Lxwis went through eight regular battles and sixteen 
skirmishes, but was finally shot within the breastworks at Petersburg, on the 19th 
June, and died the next day, aged 24 years and six months.'* 

" His remains hare been brought from the far sunny South, 

Where, in battte, he fell with the braye. 
Midst aur own Berkshire hills we have laid him to rest, 

Where his young wife can weep o'er his grave ; 
Or flowers may be planted by a kind sister's hand, 

And the gentle winds waft their perfume ; 
Where a father can look on the grave of his son. 

And a mother can mourn at his tomb. 

" Oh, how cruel is war, when the noble and brave. 

Like our own beloved Lewis must fall. 
Who so gallantly rallied our country to save. 

But so speedily to find but his pall. 
Then weep not, ye dear ones ; 'tis an honor to die 

While battling for country and right. 
We have his clay here, but his spirit didst fly 

To the mansions of life, love and light." 

Augustus, the youngest son was wounded at Spottsylvania, and 
was quite lame when he went into his last battle, where he was 
again wounded and taken prisoner. It has been ascertained by his 
friends that he died in Poplar Lawn Hospital, at Petersburg, some- 
time about the 6th of August, 1864, at the age of 17 years. He 
saved the life of his friend, Mr. Worthy, by fending off the sword 
of a rebel officer, and running him through with his bayonet, killing 
him on the spot. The body of Augustus has not been recovered 
by his friends, and he fills the grave of a brave and noble boy, 
among the enemies of his country, where he yielded up his life. 

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The following lines are inscribed to his mother, in memory of 

"In the sunny South, where the orange blooms, 
And flowers fling out their sweet perfumes, 
Our youthful champion rests at last, 
All hunger, pain and danger past. 

^ '* Oh, God ! that under skies so bright. 

Brave men should languish far from sight, 
' In prison, with no helping hand. 

In this, our glorious Fatherland. 

" With none to comfort or to bless, 
No mother's smile or fond caress, 
No joy, save dreams of distant home. 
And visions where the loved ones come. 


"But all is o'er, thy poor form sleeps, 

An unknown grave thy dear dust keeps, 

Thy spirit dwells mid fadeless bloom, 

Confined not by the narrow tomb. 

> "And war is ended, fighting done, 

Bebellion crushed, victory won. 
But who shall count the friends that mourn. 
Or tell the hearts with anguish torn ? 

" 0, God ! we lay before thy throne. 
Hearts filled with grief, till now unknown, 
0, grant submission to Thy will. 
And bid our doubting hearts be still. 

" Enable us to see Thy power. 

In this our darkest, earthly hour. 

Inspire the hope to meet again 

Our loved, who was for freedom slain P* 

Jonas A., was elected Captain of the Adams and Williamstown 
Company, in the 37th Massachusetts Regiment, and was in nearly 
every battle before Richmond and Petersburg ; was once wounded 
with a shell, but remained with the regiment all through its cam- 
paign. At the breaking up of the war, he returned home with all 
honors to himself, having the confidence and love of all under his 
command, and with the title of Major. In the fall of 1866, he was 
elected Representative to the State Legislature by the citizens of 
Adams, Mass. 

Fbed W. was engaged in the service at one time as chief engineer 

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of a gun-boat, and was at the taking of New Orleans under Gen. 
Butler. He has had many hair-breadth escapes during the war. 
At the breaking out of the war he was at the extreme South, and 
was a prisoner for being a Union man, but made his escape to the 
Federal lines, passing through tho entire {Southern States into Ken- 
tucky. He tells his own story in another chapter. 

The writer would say to the brothers who have suffered so 
intensely by the accursed rebellion, that those who sent their sons 
to the field, must remember that they fought, not for the freedom 
of their country only, but for the universal liberties of mankind. 
The blood of these young men, together with thousands of others, 
has sprinkled afresh the altar of liberty, and their memories, the 
fame of their noble deeds are enshrined in the hearts of their 
countrymen ; and not the soldier alone, but the Republic's noblest 
son, the patriot, statesman and moral hero of unsullied memory, 
whom all men had learned to love, he, too, has fallen; slain by the 
hand of a cowardly traitor. Abraham Lincoln was followed to his 
grave by a world in tears ! There are but few men in our country 
who have done more for the Union cause than the subject of this 
brief sketch, according to his means. He not only gave his sons, 
but of his substance most freely ; and he being the eldest of the 
family, his example is worthy of us all to follow. 

Ebenezer Champney, born New Ipswich, N. H., March 4, 1808. 
Sarah Nickles, born Billrica, Mans., March 10, 1811. Married at 
Lowell, June 17, 1829. 

Children : — 
Sarah Elizabeth, born Nashua, N. H., August 21, 1831. 
Mary M. G., born Nashua, April 19, 1833. 
Ebenezer Nichols, born Lowell, May 3, 1834. Died May 

23, 1835. 
John Holland, born Lowell, November 8, 1836. 
Clarissa E., born Lowell, February 18, 1838. 
George Henry, born Lowell, July 5, 1841. Died May 16, 1842. 
Charles Frederick, born June 21, 1844. Died March 16, 1848. 
Frances Ellen, born June 11, 1846. Died September 14, 1846. 
Lewis Edwin, born October 15, 1849. 

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Sarah Elizabeth, married Timothy Adams, of Carlisle, April 
23, 1853. 

Children : — 
Timothy Ebenezbr, born January 7, 1857. 
Benjamin Stephen, born December 19, 1859. 
Catharine Maria, born August 25, 1861. 
Flora Elizabeth, born December 21, 1865. 

Mary M. G., married A. G. Munroe, of Mario w, N. Y., Decem- 
ber 9, 1853. 

Children: — 
Mary Adeline, born Sept-^mber 19, 1856. 
Edwin Champney, born February 4, 1858. 
Sarah L., born April 12, 1859. 

John Holland, married Elizabeth R. Heald, of Carlisle, 
August 22, 1857. 

Children : — 
Adriana Elizabeth, born February 11, 1858. 
Anna Belle, born September 17, 1860. 

Clarissa E., married Marshall M. Mason, of Concord, Mass., 
February 7, 1859. 

Children: — 
Lewis F., born May 25, 1861. 

Brother Eben writes: 

Carlisle, Mass., January 21, 1866. 
Dear Brother: — 

Yours of the 9th was received, and I hasten to comply with your 
request. My family history will be brief and uninteresting, but will give a sketch 
of my own life since leaving the old homestead. I believe it was about the year 
1823, that I left home, and for quite a number of years I did not remain in any 
one place for any length of time; but in the fall of 1828, I arrived in Lowell, 
where I commenced work in the machine shop, as I had previously obtained some 
knowledge of that business. On the 17th of June following, I married my wife, 
Sabah Nickles. In 1830, business at the shop became depressed, and I went to 

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Nashua, N. H., but in 1833, moved back to Lowell, and remained there until the 
fall of 1849. In the meantime I was what was called one of the job hands — a 
contractor for building machinery. I then, in '4d, purchased a farm in this town, 
and moved here, where my family have remained ever since. I have had much 
sickness in my family, mostly with the children ; have buried four, and have five 
living. The youngest, a boy living at home, is the only one unmarried. Johx, my 
oldest, was a volunteer in the Andrew Sharp-Shooters. During the war, he was 
through the Peninsular campaign, at South Mountain, Antietam, Fredricksburg 
and Gettysburg ; under Gen. Burnside, during which time he contracted a disease 
for which he was honorably discharged, after serving two years. As he went be- 
fore bounties were offered, he got nothing but his wages as a private. 

Since my residence here, I have been honored with offices of trust by my fellow 
townsmen — was twice elected on the Board of School Committee ; two years as 
one of the Selectmen and Assessors, and once as Overseer of the Poor. But for 
the past few years, I have positively refused having my name used in connection 
with any office. 

When the idea was first proposed for a family gathering, although it met my 
entire approbation, I had my doubts about its consummation; and still later, when 
all seemed to acquiesce in the plan, and a time set, still, when I reflected how 
widely we were separated, and how little correspondence had been kept up 
between us, I could not help feeling that some one would be absent. You may 
judge, then, how the result affected me. There we were, all together, after so 
long a separation — all bearing unmistakable marks of the time when last to- 
gether ! I confess my feelings so overcame me that I could not speak on that 
occasion. I know it was a weakness, but I could not overcome it. When I 
attempted to speak, my thoughts would go back to the days of our childhood, and 
follow our past history, resting heavily upon recent events. Here sat brother Sam, 
and the last time I saw him, previous to this, he had three promising sons — the 
two oldest just merging into manhood, upon whom he was looking fondly for com- 
fort and solace in the future. Alas, their seats were vacant — and this was not 
all ; had they sickened and died at home, under the care of a devoted mother, or 
kind friends ; or even had they been killed outright on the field of battle, the 
shock to the feelings of their parents and friends would have been somewhat 
softened. Then, brother Jonas — he, too, lost two sons, although not in so ter- 
rible a manner, still they were killed in battle. Many thousands have suflPered, 
perhaps as severely since the rebellion broke out, but these are cases that come 
home to ourselves, and we are obliged to feel the reality. All these things, I say , 
would, in spite of me, crowd upon the mind — and being of a very sympathetic 
temperament, you can understand why I broke down as I did ; however, the meet - 
ing I look upon as one of the most pleasant pages of my life. 

The visit to the old homestead, the look into each room where we used to live 
when our own father and mother were with us, was a treat not soon to be forgot- 
ten. The visit to cousin Abby, was one long to be remembered. The kindness 
and hospitality of herself and husband, and tiie entire household, created an im- 
pression that will go with me while memory lasts. The call at cousin John Pres- 
ton's was very interesting also. Although it was sad to see him in the situation 
he was, I verily believe that nine persons out often, placed in the same condition, 
would not have survived. I am truly glad to hear that he is recovering, and hope 

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that ho may be spared to his good family for many years to come. I feel a strong 
affection for him and his. 

Our stay at New Ipswich was too limited. There were many places I should like 
to have visited that we hardly thought of while there in company with the whole 
family. Very likely we shall never meet together again upon this earth. We are 
widely separated, and getting well into years. 

There is one thing I should have mentioned in its appropriate place : — the re- 
ception at the house of brother Sam. I feel very grateful to him, and his wife 
and family, for the very kind and generous entertainment they bestowed upon us 
while there. Those acts of kindness will be treasured up in my memory, never 
to be eradicated while life and consciousneds remain. Our children who were 
there, call it one of the most pleasant visits they ever experienced. By the way, 
I was looking over some old papers in my possession, and found a certificate from 
Abner Kneeland, certifying that EbenV Ghampney was admitted a member of the 
Universalist Church in Charlestown, of which he, (Mr. Kneeland,) was pastor, dated 
1812. I would here mention the fact, as a matter of history, that when William 
Lloyd Garrison began to lecture in the city of Boston, about forty years ago, in 
behalf of the anti-slavery movement, no church would open its doors to bim with 
the exception of Abner Kneeland, who invited him to speak from his desk, which 
he did. 

I have nothing more to write. I am not an adept at writing, being much out of 
practice, and will close, hoping that the remainder of our lives may be so spent 
that we may look back with a conscience void of offense toward God and man. 
May brotherly love and good will be with us while we remain here. 



Julius Beresford Champney and family. 

Sabah p. Bradford, born Duxbury, Mass., June 13, 1813. 

Married in Roxbury, Mass., September 10, 1833. 

Children: — 
Julius Jackson, born Black Rock, K Y., June 30, 1836. Died 

July 11, 1836. 
Oscar Bradford, bom Black Rock, K Y., May 30, 1837. 
Helen Marion, born Niagara Falls, N. Y., December 30, 1838. 

Died, July 16, 1839. 
Edgar Lewis, born Niagara Falls, K Y., December 30, 1838. 

Died November 19, 1844. 
Mrs. Ghampney died January 16, 1850. 

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Married Coxtent Almy, of Fall River, Mass., June 29, 1850. 

Children : — 

Ruth Anna, born September 23, 1852. Died in Peru, 111., 
March 30, 1864. 

Julius Beresfokd, born February 2, 1855. Died Peru, Novem- 
ber 4, 1861. 

Abby Parker, born February 7, 1857. Died in Peru, February 
16, 1864. 

Mary A. Livermore, born April 3, 1859. 

Lizzie Preston, born October 26, 1862. Died August 31, 1863. 

Frank Preston, born Peru, 111., December 29, 1864. 

Oscar Bradford, married Julia Cushman, of Duxbury, Mass., 
August 23, 1863. 

Children: — 
Sarah Cushman, born March 4, 1865. 


Julius Berespord Champney born February 12, 1811. Lived 
at home until 13 years of age, when the homestead was rented, and 
I was seni to live on a farm in Temple, for one year. Mother was 
married during this year, to Mr. Bigelow, and removed to Leomin- 
ster, Mass., where she resided until the year 1837, and the young 
flock was scattered abroad. I shall never forget that long, dreary 
year of servitude and separation from the family. How my young 
heart beat when my year was up and I was on my way home to see 
mother and the children. The larks that sing in the home-hedge 
was no happier than I. 

At the age of 16, it was thought best that I should learn the 
same trade of my older brothers, and I commenced my apprentice- 
ship with brother Jonas, who at that time was foreman of an estab- 
lishment for building machinery, but I subsequently finished my 
trade with an old New Ipswich neighbor, James Chandler, in 
Lowell, Mass. In my last visit to the place of my nativity, I forgot 
to mention the call made to Mr. Chandler and his venerable mother, 
now .near a hundred years old. I shall remember them in gratitude 
for favors received in my early life. 

I was married in 1833, to Sarah P. Bradford. She died in 

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1851, leaving one chUcL Married same year Content Almt. The 
family record will be found in another plaoe. Soon after my first 
marriage I became engaged in Eailroad service, and remain so stilL 
From the year 1846 to 1866, 1 held the office of master mechanic on 
the Fall River and Boston Railroad, and a similar position since 
that time on the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad. The reminis- 
cences of those years spent in Fall River, are extremely pleasant 
It is a pleasure to know that one shares in the confidence and 
esteem of his fellow men. I was honored with a seat in the Board 
of Aldermen at the first municipal election in that city. This is 
the highest position, politically, I have ever reached, or ever aspired 
to. I have always been of the opinion that — 

" He who makes politics a trade, 
And struggles for the spoil, 
Had better take the spade, 
And shovel in the soil." 

In 1855, I removed to Illinois, where I still reside. At the 
breaking out of the rebellion, my son, Osgab, volunteered at the 
first call of the President for men. How many there are who can 
relate tales of sorrow and of suffering caused by this unholy war ! 
I must tell my own story of my soldier-boy, who volunteered to 
fight in his country's cause. Oscab first enlisted in Capt Coate's 
company, of LaSalle, then organizing at that place ; but, on account 
of the rush of men to arms, the quota for that vicinity was filled 
before the company was ready, and consequently not accepted. 
The company was then disbanded, subject to call, and subsequently 
filled up, organized, and entered the field. So determined was 
Oscab to enter the service, that he walked over to Granville, in 
Putnam county, about nine miles from LaSalle, where a company 
was being formed to fill the quota of that county, and enlisted with 
Capt. Frisbee. The company was called the "Putnam County 
Rifle Guards." What better name could the company have 
chosen? Whose heart does not thrill with patriotic zeal at the 
sound of that name, "Putnam?" 

This company started for Peru, the nearest point to a railroad 
fltation, on the morning of May 11, 1861, in wagons, accompanied 
by all of the citizens within the range of seven or eight miles. On 
ai riving on the opposite bank of the Illinois river, on which Peru 
is situated, the procession halted and partook of a bountiful repast 
furnished by the ladies, who are ever thoughtful for the soldiers 

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welfare. The company was received at Peru with enthusiasm, and 
all the needful preparations of speeches, music and cheering that 
was customary on such occasions, and the company embarked for 
Joliet, where was formed the regiment to which the company was 
attached — ^the 20th regiment of Illinois infantry. For nearly a 
year he stood up under the hardships and exposures of camp life 
remarkably well, but at length sickness came upon him. Typhoid 
fever brought him down, and he suffered for a time in a soldier's 
hospital, came home on furlough, and recruited his heaUh so far as 
to be able to return to his regiment at Pittsburg Landing, where he 
arrived on Thursday previous to that terrific battle. When the 
news come of that horrible slaughter, I knew my boy was engaged. 
Days and weeks passed before any word came from that battle- 
field in regard to the killed and wounded. His name, as reported 
in the Chicago daily papers, was so far from bemg right, that it 
was not recognized by his friends. At length a neighbor received 
a letter from her son, who belonged to the same company, stating 
that two members of company H, 20th regiment, were killed, and 
that OscAB Champnst was one of them. I could not doubt the 
truth of this, coming as it did from one of his own company, and 
an intimate associate — therefore I believed him dead. Being 
anxious to know the particulars, I made arrangements to go down 
to the field of battle. It was Saturday, and I was to leave on 
Monday. But that night, at the still hour of midnight, when deep 
sleep held all except myself in its fastness and repose, a loud rap 
came upon the door, and a well-known voice called, ^^ Father/ 
father I it is me! it is me I" A moment and my soldier-boy, whom 
I had mourned as dead, stood before me ! Yea, my son that was 
dead, was alive again I The whole household came rushing to see 
him. His little sisters clung to his neck, crying, " My brother I Oh, 
my brother 1 you were not killed! — How glad we are that you are 
home again." * 

He was wounded by a musket-ball through the right thigh, and 
came home by way of the Mississippi and Illinois rivers, in one of 
the hospital boats. Cold water alone saved his leg and his life. 
There was no feasting or dancing, but joy and gladness ruled the 
household. In consequence of his wound and ill-health, he was 
honorably discharged, after nearly two years service. 

Of my life thus far, I can cheerfully say that it has been more 
pleasant than otherwise, notwithstanding the frequent and imbitter* 

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ing calls by the death messenger, snatching away the loved idob 
of the household. 

Wealth has not been lavish of her favors towards me. Her 
smiles have never rested, particolarly, upon any member of the 
family, yet we have all managed to keep the wolf from the door, 
and at a respectful distance. 

In poHtics I am classed with the radicals, and that is fair, because 
there is where I belong. A descendant of the puritans could not 
well go in any other direction. 

Of religion, I make no professions, but most firmly believe in 
God and immortality. It is well known that my faith is not ex- 
actly in harmony with that of the Cottons and Mathebs, yet I 
have thought intensely upon this subject during my life-time ; still, 
I am no sectarian. This is a progressive world, and 1 know of no 

From my boyhood to the present day, I have been heart and 
hand in the temperance reform, and I flatter myself that I have not 
labored wholly in vain. A few years since, I met an associate of 
early days, after a long intermission, and he frankly told me that 
he had ever been a staunch temperance man, and was indebted to 
me for the resolutions he formed while we were companions 
together. I do not relate this little incident in the spirit of boast- 
ing, but to show that, we all have an influence, and even at times 
when we are not aware of it. I am fifty-six years of age, and have 
never yet had a suit at law! I make no use of intoxicating drinks, 
or tobacco, in any form whatever. My beverage is drawn from the 
well, and I believe nature has provided all that is required for man, 
as well as beast, in this particular. 

Tiie most remarkable event perhaps in my whole life, is that of 
undertaking to write a book ! Could I but wield the pen with the 
same confidence I can mould and put together the ponderous 
engine, with its wonderful power, I should not feel that reluctance 
in coming before a reading community. I shall therefore look for 
and expect that charity from friends, and strangers, too, which 
passes tenderly over the errors and imperfections of mankind. 

Finally, during my sojourn here, I have been led to form a 
character which, at least, has enabled m^ to respect myself, even 
though I may have failed to gain the approbation of others. 

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Samuel Pabkxb Champnby, bom October 24, 1813. 
Susan Adams, bom July 28, 1814. 
Married, October 10, 1837. 

Children : — 
Pbeston Adams, bora February 23, 1841. Died August 11, 

1864, in Andersonville prison. 
Samuel Goodbich, bom January 8, 1843. Died October 10, 

1864, at quarantine, N. Y., of yellow fever. 
Susie Mehitablb, bom December 16, 1846. M. Goodrich, of 

Eben Fbbmont, bom September 7, 1850. 

Samuel P. writes from — 

Saundebstilli, Mass., March 18, 1866. 

Of my father, I remember but little ; but for once, I have recollected him 
always. It was the night before his death, in the east chamber, when he called 
me to his bed-side, and taking me by the hand, he said : ** Samuel, I am going to 
leave you. Now, I want you to always be a good boy." How little I realized the 
importance of that short sentence ; yet how often have my thoughts recurred to 
it in after years. Leaving home at the age of nine years, how little did I realize 
what I was leaving behind t 

I went to live with Samuel Smith, Esq., of Peterboro, who was a relative of our 
mother, distant about ten miles, where I lived two years, as errand-boy, or flying 
attendant for the household. At the expiration of the two years, it was thought 
best that I should learn a trade, and accordingly I went to work with Sydney 
Smith, a son of Esquire Samuel, in a papei>mill. Here I remained three years, 
imtil the proprietor failed, and the business stopped. From this time I had no 
permanent abiding place until the year 1832, when I concluded to learn the watch 
and jewelry busine'ss, with John Bigelow, at Framingham, Mass. Here I found a 
home-place and was contented. A beautiful town, good society, the young people 
united, agreeable, social, and intellectual. 

As soon as I had my trade learned, Mr. Bigelow opened a shop in Grafton, and 
wished me to take charge of it, which I did, and at the expiration of my appren- 
ticeship, I bought one-half of the stock and went into business with Mr. Bigelow. 
At the end of two years I found the copartnership insolvent, and my next business 
was to dissolve, which was done. Previous to this, however, I had formed another 
co-partnership with Susan Adams, a daughter of Oliver Adams, of Worcester. 

We lived in Grafton until the fall of 1889, and the following spring we moved 
V) Worcester, where I had previously opened a shop. We lived in this city until 

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1857. Moved to our present location, which we designate Fremont, in the same 
year, where we hope to pass the remainder of our days. I would say here, that 
if my first partnership was unfortunate, my second has proved quite the reverse. 
In my yearly visits to mother, I always passed through New Ipswich, and ever/ 
time I stopped at uncle Preston^s, to see Thomas, the pleasures of which were 
second only to home. 

At the breaking out of the war, and at the first call of the President for men^ 
in defense of the Capital, Preston volunteered in the Rifle Battalion, came home 
at the expiration of their time, re-enlisted in the 25th Massachusetts, and went 
out as corporal. Was in the battles of Roanoke Island, Newburn, Goldsboro, and 
others. Was promoted to second sergeant, was detailed into the signal corps, and 
at the time of his capture, was in charge of Beach Grove Station. Was carried 
to Belle Isle, and from there to Americus, Ga., and from there to that place of all 
horrors, Andersonville, where he fell a victim, like thousands of others, to untold 
tortures, and died, suffering all the agonies of starvation. His remains have been 
identified, and we shall soon receive them — ^for which favor, God bless Carrie 

Samtjil Goodrich enlisted in the 25th Massachusetts regiment, August 7, 1862, 
and becoming enfeebled and unfit for field duty, was detailed as clerk for 
Gapt. James, in Newbern, N. C, in which capacity he served until the expiration 
of his term of service. On his return with his regiment, he was attacked with 
yellow fever, and died at quarantine, N. Y. Thus has two of our first-born been 
taken from us in the very bloom of life. They have gone to their rest — ^blessed 
be the name of God forever ! 


Elizabeth Champnst and family. 

Daniel Cobubn, born Dracutt, Mass., September 14, 1819. 

Married at Lowell, December 15, 1843. 

Children: — 
HsNBT, born in Lowell, Mass., October 5, 1844. 
Ellen, born in Dracutt, Mass., August 27, 1646. 
Lizzie Pbbston, born Lowell, Mass., May 10, 1849. 
Mart Frances, born Lowell, December 15, 1860. 
Emma Champney, born South Windham, Me., January 9, 1859. 

Elizabeth remained at home until the death of her mother, and 
afterwards married Daniel Cobitrn, of Lowell, Mass., and has 
four children. Mr. Cobitrn is a mechanic also, and a master work- 
man, and holds a prominent position in that busy city. His 

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services are always in demand, he being very skilfbl in designing, 
planning, erecting mills, and the operating of machinery. 

Elizabeth writes : 

LowBLLy Mass., April 15, 1866. 
DxAK Bbothib: — 

If I am not too late, I would giro a brief genealogy of the family 
on our mother's side ; and as your book is more for the benefit of the younger 
generation, I will gire what little I have in relation to our mother's antecedents. 
Being in Fitchburg last week, I took a little pains to collect what I could during 
the short time I was there. 

Tou well know that our mother's maiden name was Mehitablb Goodbioge, and 
that she was bom in Fitchburg, or what is now called South Fitchburg. She was 
ttom in 1782, and the house in which she was born is still standing, and in good 
condition, having been repaired quite recently. Her father, John Goodridob, was 
the son of Dayid Goodridob, who settled in Fitchburg at a time when the Indians 
were very troublesome. At one time, his cow not coming home as usual at night, 
he left the next morning on horseback, in search of her, and was surprised by an 
Indian suddenly starting up in the path in front of him, who commanded him to 
surrender. He immediately turned his horse in order to retreat, when lo ! another 
Indian, completely armed, faced him, to cut off his retreat in that direction. He 
then made a circuit, aiming to come down the hill. The savage ran in a direct 
line to cut him off again. It was a fair race, but the horseman gained upon the 
footman, and as Goodridge passed in front, the savage, thinking he could not take 
him alive, fired, but fortunately, owing to the rapidity of Goodridge's motion, or 
some other cause, missed his mark. He had the river to ford at the foot of the 
hill, which he did. The leaps of the horse down the hill were measured and 
fovLhd to be eighteen feet. In his fiight, Goodridge lost his hat, and the Indians 
secured it as a trophy. About ten years after this, in the succeeding war, an 
Indian was captured somewhere on the Connecticut river, with the identical hat 
of Deacon David Goodridge on his head, not much the worse for wear. David 
Goodridge died January 18, 1786, and was buried in the now "old burying- 
ground " in Fitchburg. His wife, whose maiden name was Elizabeth Martin, died 
March 7, 1764, and was buried in the old burying-ground in Lunenburg. 

Philip Goodridge, the father of David, died 1797, aged 84 ; and Philip Good- 
ridge, the father of the above-named Philip, and grandfather of David, was born 
in Newbury, and died at Lunenburg, January 16, 1728, aged 60, and buried in the 
old burying-ground, and, as the inscription says, was the first person buried there. 
The inscription also says that he was the second son of Joseph and Martha 
Goodridge, of Newbury. The above Joseph and Martha had three sons settled in 
Lunenburg, from which sprung the different families of that name in that section. 
They are supposed to have originated in Wales. The name of our grandmother 
was Desire Nichols, of Leominster, died January 18, 17^8, aged 82 years, 10 
months and 11 days. Grandfather had a second wife, named Prudence Butlbb, 
daughter of Deacon Butler, of Leominster, who died November 18, 1880, aged 73 

I remember something of Major John Goodridob, our grandfather. He was a 

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revolutionary hero — ^was in that ever renowned battle of Banker Hill, and was a 
pensioner from the days of President Jackson. He was quite a military man in 
his younger days; was a Major in the militia, and was always called by that title. 
In the year 1824, he attended the celebration at Boston and Charlestown, of the 
17th of June, and was dressed in a portion of the uniform which he wore in the 
battle, together with the powder horn, the bottom of which was shot away in that 
desperate conflict. Here the veterans met the noble Gen. Lafayette, and I doubt 
whether there has ever been a more interesting celebratioA in our country since 
that eventful day. Those patriots and heroes came together after a separation of 
fifty years, and what a day of rejoicing it was ! I have often listened with delight 
to hear grandfather relate the incidents of that occasion. You are aware that he 
was one of the minute men, so called, in the war of the Revolution, and responded 
pi'omptly to the call at that time. And at the time the British evacuated Boston, 
after peace had been declared, he said it was the hardest part for him to stand 
and see them sail out of the harbor without giving them a few shots for their 
impudence ; but it was a part of the agreement for them to leave unmolested, 
and so they went. 

Major John Goodridge, our grandfather, died April 24, 1834, aged 79 years. 
His body rests in the cemetery at the foot of Roulstone, in Fitchburg, a hill 
famous in history. His daughter, Mrs. Oowdin, still lives in her native town, and 
was present at our family gathering, healthy and active, in her eightieth year. 

I would say that I have written the name as it was done in olden time, but it 
has long since been spelled " Goodrich," instead of Goodridge, 


Lewis C. Champney and family. '' 

. Maky E. Ball, born Holden, Mass., April 16, 1824. 
Married April 18, 1846. 

Children : — 
Mary Adella, bom Troy, N. Y., March 9, 1847. 
Elizabeth Ella, bom Troy, N. Y., July 4, 1849. 
Julius W., born Troy, January 4, 1851. Died January 5, 1855. 
Emma R., born Troy, N. Y., February 27, 1853. 
Fbances J., born Troy, K Y., January 8, 1859. 
Richard L., born Lansingburg, N. Y., June 19, 1859. Died 

June 19, 1859. 
Harvey Young, born Lowell, Mass., April 20, 1860. Died July 

22, 1360. 

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Brother Lewis writes : — 

Trot, N, Y., February 26, 1866. 
Dkab Bbothkb Julius: — 

Yours of last week was duly received by me, and, Id answer 
to your request, that as you were about publishing a history of our family, sug- 
gested at the family gathering at brother Samusl Ohampnet's, in Grafton, Mass., I 
forward this brief sketch of my life, as a slight contribution to the book, which 
will be valued by our posterity for generations to come. 

I am one of those chosen few, whose stream of life has moved quietly along. 
Nothing has occurred that would adorn the pages of romance, or perhaps even 
excite interest in a stranger ; but I have endeavored to follow the example of a 
Christian mother, and consequently there is nothing in my life I am ashamed to 
have known. While I was at the tender age of eighteen months, our father de< 
parted from Time into Eternity. Thus I was deprived of a father's protection and 
council, which should be so highly prized in the journey through life. When bul 
four years old, our mother broke up keeping house, and I, with my sister 
Ulizabeth, were sent to live with Mrs. Spaulding, in Groton, where we remained 
two years, during which time our mother married a Mr. Bigxlow, of Leominster, 
Mass., a widower, with eight children. We then went to our new home, making 
quite a large family. The relations being unpleasant, at the end of four years I 
departed for Peterboro, N. H., where I obtained a situation at Esquire Sam. 
Smith's, and received my board and clothes for my services. Ever shall I remem- 
ber the encouraging words and kind advice my dear mother bestowed on me, with 
her earnest prayer for my welfare. My brother Jonas accompanied me, but on 
arriving at my destination, I was left alone with strangers. Separated from all I 
held dear, at the early age of ten years, my feelings can better be imagined than 
described ; but as I received good treatment, I became reconciled. My education 
has been sadly neglected. Very unfortunately for me, Mr. Smith failed in busi- 
ness, and was unable to procure the necessary help, and the school being at a 
great distance, it was not always convenient for me to go, consequently my 
attendance was very irregular, and I lost all interest. In two years and six 
months, I saved three dollars from the pennies which the visitors gave me for 
** running of errands," and having obtained sufficient funds, I determined to gratify 
my long-cherished desire to visit home, a distance of over thirty miles. A neigh> 
bor offered to loan me a little black horse for a dollar for two weeks, which I 
accepted, and after having procured the consent of Mr. Smith, I commenced my 
journey on horseback. I must have presented a rather ludicrous appearance, as I 
rode along, the wind blowing furiously, playing sad havoc with my old-fashioned 
long plaid cloak, which I vainly endeavored to keep around me. The second day 
I arrived home, and, to my great disappointment, found the house empty. They 
had gone to the muster at Fitohburg. I immediately followed them, and they were 
all surprised to see me. My vacation passed rapidly and pleasantly away, and it 
was with reluctance that I returned to Peterboro. In six months I went to live 
with brother Ebkn, in Nashua, N. H. Afterwards I worked on a farm for Mr. 
Pexter, for $8.00 a month; remained until I procured a situation in Boston, in 
the family of Mr. Joseph Ooolage, in Boudwin Square. He was a gentleman in 
every sense of the word. I was then sixteen years old. I next apprenticed myself 

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to my brother Samuel, in Grafton, to learn the watch-makers and jewelers trade. 
I afterwards went to Niagara and pursued the same employment. While there 
my mother died very suddenly. It was a terrible shock to me. She was a very 
fluperior woman; and although she made no professions, yet she possessed all 
those attributes that constitute a true Christian. She corresponded with me 
until the time of her death, and her letters always breathed words of affectionate 
encouragement and wise counsel, which I never recall but with lore and rever- 

In 1840, 1 went to Worcester, to learn the daguerreotype business, which I pur- 
sued for three years, then abandoned it and went to Troy, and was employed by 
Geo. Fisher in the jewelry business, which I have since followed. I became a 
partner, and then the proprietor of the establishment. I applied the strictest 
attention to my trade, and have endeavored to perfect myself in it. I married 
Mart Ball in 1846, and settled in Troy ; was very successful in business transac- 
tions, and accumulated quite a fortune. In 1859, 1 became interested in a patent 
clock, and took up my residence in Boston. The wicked rebellion soon burst 
upon us, and the country being so agitated by the civil war, was unfavorable for 
receiving new inventions, business was suspended, and thus I lost my many years 
earnings. In 1862, 1 returned to Troy, and received a hearty welcome from my 
old friends and customers ; have resumed my former business, and am doing well, 
satisfied that when one is engaged in a good business, never lo abandon it for an 
uncertainty, however flattering. I am blessed with four daughters, the eldest 
eighteen, who graduates this year at Mrs. Willard*s Seminary, and I hope to be 
able to give the others equal advantages, for I am ambitious to educate and 
accomplish them that they may be prepared to occupy any position in society. 

Have lost three sons, two of whom died in infancy. Julius, the idol of all my 
earthly hopes, was a remarkably beautiful child, and attracted the attention and 
admiration of every one. When he was about two years and a half old, he was 
stolen from us ; was discovered in the hands of a savage looking sailor, who pro- 
bably intended to take him to sea; then perhaps we would always have remained 
in ignorance of his fate. To our excessive joy he was recovered, and rendered 
doubly dear to us from his narrow escape. But he was not long destined to 
remain with us, and realize all the bright anticipations that dreams and hopes of 
fond parents had entwined around his brow, but was snatched from us by the 
relentless hand of death, when he had just completed his fourth year, leaving a 
void in the family heart that time has never been able to fill. 

I will now conclude this short autobiography with the earnest wish that the 
greater advantages bestowed on our children, will enable them to perform a more 
important part in the theater of life, and in a manner to reflect honor on the 
honest name of their ancestors. 

Your affectionate brother, 


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The old homestead is interestmg beyond description. Child- 
hood's home among the hills, memory makes immortal How oflen 
I recall it in the journey of life ! What emotions of thought spring 
up towards that precious spot where I first saw the light of heaven ! 
The old house, bam, door-yard, orchard, and the cider-mill. Who 
can ever forget that important institution, as it stood and flourished 
a half century ago? And — 

** What classic gobl«t ever felt 
Such thrilling touches through it melt, 
As throb electric 'long a straw, 
When boyish lips the cider draw. 

And I lean at times, in a sad, sweet dream, 
To the babbling of that little stream ; 
And sit in a visioned autumn still. 
In the sunny door of the cider-mill." 

The great tall maples, the stone wall, and the berries that grew 
along by its side ; the fragrant roses and lilacs that grew in the 
front yard ; the currants in the garden ; the green fields in spring- 
time, and sallow leaf at autumn ; the monstrous drifts of snow in 
winter, at times with a crusty surface, and so happily improved ; 
the horses and cattle, and little bleating lambs, leaping and frolick- 
ing in their happy innocence, together with the joyful converse at 
the fire-side, with its thousands of kindly associations — all these 
return to me as I look upon that blessed old mansion, and the place 
of my boyhood — and, in spite of me, it masters the heart and 
moistens the eye. 

The one we called father, who moved at the head, paled and 
died, leaving us in early childhood. The angel of that household, 
whom we called "mother," reposes by his side, in the same calm 
sleep. We were scattered abroad to find new homes, and the old 
house and all passed into other hands ; but the recollections are 
forever dear, and the councils and reproofs received under that roof 
have ever been regarded, are still binding, and will always remain 
a guide to my footsteps. 

The summer of youth has indeed passed away, and wasted into 
the shadows and nightfall of age ; yet how pleasant to look back, 
through the mist and maze of time, to the home-circle, gathered 
around the old fire-side, and view, in the twilight of life, the sunny 
spots we have passed through. As we advance in life^ the scene 
grows brighter and more beautiful. 

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In the flight of time, each year obliterates some sign of the past. 
Ancient landmarks fall beneath the unerring march of time. The 
links which bind us to the past are daily becoming less. In our 
last visit to our early home and birth-pface, we noticed the Old 
Pine Tree was missing. The old veteran has at last fallen. From 
early infancy to mature manhood, from the dawn of life to old age, 
has the old tree been a land -mark to the inhabitants of New Ipswich. 
Alone it stood, from age to age, on Whittemore Hill, braving the 
elements. Never could we cast our eye south from the old mansion 
without seeing it. It was as familiar to the sight as the old willow 
that grew in the barn-yard at home. We shall never behold its like 
again. But let us cherish and perpetuate its memory by recording 
the following lines, written by one who knew its history well. I 
copy from the Farmer' b Cdbinet^ my father's family newspaper, and 
the only' paper known in all that region of country a half century 
since. The Cabinet was established November 2, 1802, and the 
poem appeared May 2, 1860. 

It was in this office that Geo. W. Kendall, formerly editor of the 
New Orleans Picayune^ and lately a wool-grower of Texas, and 
Horace Greely, of the Neo) York Tribune^ served their apprentice- 
ship, under the late venerable Richard Boylston. Both were 
natives of Amherst, N. H. I was in the office of the Farmer^B 
Cabinet once when a boy. It was before mails were established 
between the towns, and not even stages were running at that time, 
so the inhabitants took turns in going after the paper. Being old 
enough to drive a horse, and do errands on the way, I performed 
that duty once myselt Whether I saw the boys, Kendall and 
Greely, I cannot say. 

[For the Cabinet.] 

In a late number of the Cabinet^ a correspondent announces that the old pine 
tree, which " for a time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the con- 
trary," had stood solitary and alone upon the summit of Whittemore Hill, in New 
Ipswich, has at last succumbed and fallen, never to rise again. 

To many whose childhood homes the old tree overlooked, or who, in later years, 
when revisiting their native town, have sat on the stone wall by its barkless trunk 
and feasted the eye upon the wide-spread rural landscape, pictured in beauty 
below, the news of its prostration has come like evil tidings, and has struck a sad 
chord in their hearts, even as if it had been the death of a grandfather or great 

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**01d age and lightning, and the winds of heaven 

Have conquered thee at last, and thou art fallen I 

Thou, who has stood alone upon the hill-top, 

And battled for a century or more 

With all the elements ; laughed at the storm, 

Defied the tempest, struggled with decay; 

Thou, who hast stood a faithful senticel, 

And daily watched the comings and the goingg 

Of three whole generations of a town 

Spread out below thee as a panorama ; 

Thou, whose erect and solitary form, 

Firm, patient, hardy and unconquerable. 

Hath cheered the eye and nerved the soul 

Of many a faltering youth gazing upon thee ; — 

Like all the joys of life which have their roots 

Only in earth, thou too at last art fallen ! 

The proud old hill that wore thee for a plume. 

Hath lost the badge which in the smoky distance 

Singled it out from all thft other hills 

Of meaner note and non-commissioned rani, 

Country surveyors in the neighboring towns 

Shall never sight again to thy straight trunk 

To test their compasses ; smd the full moon 

To boyish eyes never shall rise again 

Looking so wondrous large thro* thy big branches ; 

Low clouds at morn no more shall get entangled 

Among thy crooked limbs ; nor the bright sunbeams 

Linger at eve upon thy stately form. 

No more shall youths from academic halls 

Rest from laborious recreation 

Beneath thy shaggy awning. Never more 

In thy cool shade lover and maid shall sit 

And talk of hopes, which like thyself, too soon 

May perish and their place be desolate. 

Thy shape and figure may appear in dreams, 

But never more the waking eye behold thee. 

The town hath lost a landmark, and her sons 

Returning from afar, with grief shall miss thee. 

And they shall climb the steep and rugged hill. 

And walk in sadness where thy shadow rested, 

And shall say, " Here stood the Old Pine Tree I 

Here its long branches waved a hundred years, 

Through rain and sunshine, and through heat and cold ; 

It looked upon the same meandering streams. 

The same bold hills, and the same modest valleys 

Which greet our vision now. Wachusett stood 

A cold blue mountain to the southward, 

Watatio smiled benignant nearer by, 

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L And old Monadnock's narrow pinnacle 

f Peered over the summit of the western hills. 

b Souhegan river kept its placid course, 

Harked by a white mist in the early morn, 
I And the broad eastern landscape stretched afar, 

I Almost to the brink of the great ocean. 

Upon all these the Old Pine Tree hath looked ; 
\ But now, alas ! alas ! it looks no more. 

r ' Nothing is left of all its former greatness, 

' It is gone — all gone !" 

And so, Old Tree, farewell ! 

I cannot trust my heart its full lament, 

Lest strangers should rebuke my honest grief. 

Too many old associates cling 
I ;, * Around thy ever cherished memory. 

y Too many happy years of youth rise up 

At every mention of thy name. For though 

Far off from native haunts I've strayed, thy shape 
g^ ' 7 ' Is written on my recollection now, 

I Indelibly as are the lineaments 

I Of my own mother ; thy configuration 

I Set up against the distant clear blue sky, 

I Is as familiar to my mental eye 

[ As are the seven stars of the Great Dipper ; 

^ For thou kept watch over my boyhood years. 

The road-side where I played ; the broad green lawn. 

When, with my palm-leaf hat in hand, I chased 

Great butterflies in June ; the trees I climbed ; 

The meadows where I fished ; the tangled woods 

Where I set snares for hares and partridges ; 

And last, not least, the old brick school-house, where 

I learned the alphabet, and thought myself 

At once a man of letters; — thou, Old Tree, 

Looked down perpetually on all these scenes. 

Then why may I not shed one tear for thee ? 

Farewell I If all who for long years have lived 

Within the circle of thy watchful care 

When they depart, shall leave to history 

As brave a record, and as pure a fame , 

^ As thou hast earned, the lesson of thy life 

Hath not been lost, and thou mayest well be named 

A Public Benefactor I 

T. P. 
Bbookltn, N. Y., April, 1860. 

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The cut here given is a true picture of the old farm house which 
was built by our grandfather, and which, together with the farm, 
was inherited by his son Benjamin, and for a long time owned by 
him, but finally has passed into the hands of cousin John Preston. 
It is the birth-place of our father and aunt Preston, and for this 
reason the house has a peculiar attraction to us. I am informed by 
the present owner, that in 1*708, while our grandfather resided in 
Groton, he purchased of Elizabeth Dutton, 25 square rods of land 
on the north side of the road, being where the house now stands, 
and bounded by Moses Tucker's land, which was a part of our 
father's farm at the time? He also purchased of Mrs. Dutton, by 
the same deed, three-fourths of an acre on the opposite side of the 
road, and here is where the old barn stood. He undoubtedly built 
the house and bam before he moved from Groton, as his daughter 
Elizabeth, (Mrs. Preston,) was born, 1779, in this house. In 
July, 1770, Timothy Dix conveyed to him 55 acres of land, being 
part of lot No. 1, in the 5th range, which is a part of our father's 
farm. Moses Tucker conveyed a part of lot No. 1, in the 6th 
range, which constituted a part of our father's farm also. The 
farm is made up of several conveyances, two of which are from 
John Dutton to E. Champney, one dated September 6, 1771, of 43 
acres, south of the road ; the other deeded from Dutton, is dated 
March 2, 1776, and conveyed 70 acres. This includes the land east 
and south of the house, and the buildings thereon. Most of us 
remember the old cellar near where the cider-mill stood, at the 
fork of the roads. In 1774, Peletiah Whittemore conveyed to E. 
Champney 25 acres, which lay south of the Dutton land. In 1770, 
Robert Harris conveyed to E. Champney 24 acres, bounded north- 
erly on the way leading to his farm, and westerly on the Safford 
Path. In 1771, Benjamin Safford conveyed to E. Champney 20 
acres, bounded southerly on Dutton land and land of Safford, and 
westerly on Safford Path. 

These several deeds constitute what was the farm at our grand- 
father's death, and most of it now belongs to John Preston, Esq. 
The house is now near a hundred years old, and is still in very 
good condition, and liable to stand many years longer. I have 
often wondered how long a dwelling would last with proper usage. 
"It is said that the oldest house in the United States is the Rev. Dr. 
Whitefield's, at Guilford, Conn. It was built in 1639, the walls 

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<^ ! 


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being of stone, and the woodwork of oak. The diamond-shaped 
windows were removed some sixty or seventy years ago, but in 
other respects the venerable mansion remains in its original state." 


Childhood^s days now pass before me, 
And I my youthful hours can see, 
But I cannot the wish restrain — 
0, would I were a boy again. 

How pleasant, as I sit alone, 
To think of years now past and gone ; 
And yet how great the change must be. 
Since first I launched on life's rough sea. 

In vision's eye all seems as when 
I rambled over hills and glen, 
And to the school each morning went, 
My youthful mind on learning bent. 

The old farm-house stands as of yore, 
With mossy roof and oaken door ; 
The well-sweep there, and bucket too, 
With same green moss that to it grew. 

The ancient barn, with mows of hay, 
On which was my delight to play ; 
The orchard, and the fields of grain. 
Come to my view, and all the same. 

As when a boy I used to roam 
About the place that was my home ; 
But sad must be the change since then. 
For, parents gone, and children men. 

All separated from the hearth, 
The town, and state that gave us birth ; 
The homestead passed to other hands. 
And naught is left save friendship's bands. 

Which should our hearts more closely bind, 
That we may compensation find 
For all the lost and broken ties 
That bound us to our native skies. 

[Oscar B. Ghampitet. 

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Reverence for our birth-place, and for the graves of our fore- 
fathers, is a sentiment common to the human race. The barbarian 
and the savage tread gently over the mound which covers the 
ashes of his sires. In our last visit to our native town, we very 
naturally thought of those who had gone to their rest, and a brief 
visit to the cemetery was a most interesting part in our rambles 
over the scenes so familiar in youth. It occurred to me that a copy 
of the inscriptions upon the tomb-stones might interest the family 
bearing our name, more especially the generation that have never 
visited the town. I therefore give them as they read upon the 
stones. '^Flavel said that if men should rise from the dead and 
read their epitaphs, some of them would think that they were in the 
wrong grave." This will hardly apply to our forefathers, who 
lived and died in a rural country town, where the contaminating 
influences of city life could not reach them. 

Upon a marble slab, resting upon four pillars, in the old burying- 
ground, is the following inscription of our grandfather : 

Hon. Ebinezxb Ghampnet, died 10th Sept, A. D. 1810. Aged 67 years. He re- 
ceived the honors of Harvard University, A. D. 1762, and was admitted a member 
of the Bar A. D. 1768, and was appointed Judge of Probate A. D. 1793, in which 
office he died, universally respected and lamented. 


Buried in this grave, Abigail Ghampnet, wife of Ebenezer Ghampney. She 
died the eleventh of February, 1790, aged 37 years. 

To hush the plaintive cries of pining grief. 
To sooth despondency a kind relief. 
In joyless breasts to check the heaving sigh, 
To wipe the chrystal tear from sorrow's eye — 
These were her cares. 

Redeem your time. My glass is run and so must yours. 
Erected by Ebenezer Ghampney to the memory of his mother, Mr3. Abigail 
Ghampnet, who died the 18th January, A. D. 1785, in the 76th year of her age. 
She was bom of Godly parents, lived a pious and exemplary life, was patient and 
resigned in death, and no noubt is reaping the rewards of a faithful follower of 
the meek and lowly Jesus, to whose service she with fervent zeal devoted herself 
during her pilgrimage in this world of woes. 

Nothing is dead but that which was bid to die, 

Nothing is dead but wretchedness and pain, 

Nothing is dead but what encumbered, galled. 

Blocked up the pass, and barred from heavenly life. 

[In the New Cemetery^ an it is ecUled,"] 

Erected to the memory of Ebenezer Ghampnet, who died Nov. 16, 1820, aged 
40 years. 

Mrs. Mehitablb, wife of Ebenezer Ghampney, died June 24, 1840, aged 67. 

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To this narrow Rpao« is consigned by mortality the grosser part of Ebinbzik 
Nichols, son of Ebenezer Champney, Jr., and Mehitable, his wife, who ceased to 
live July 21, 1807, aged 8 years and 3 months. 

So fades the lovely blooming flower, kc 


Thus speaks the Almighty fiat: 
'*Dust thou art and dust thou shall return." 
Gold within the grasp of death, here lies the mortal part of Frkdxriok W., son of 
Eben'r Champney, Jr., and Mrs. Mehitable, his wife, who died April 16, 1810, aged 
6 months. 

Lovely in death, the charming infant smiled — 
Can parents part with such a lovely child ? 
Tis the Almighty^s work, our soul be still. 
Father, conform our feelings to Thy wilL 

MiRT, daughter of Mr. EbenV Champney, and Mrs. Mehitable, his wife, died 
March 10th, 1816, aged 9 weeks. 

This lovely bud, so young and fair, 
Called home by early doom. 
Just come to show how sweet a flower 
In Paradise would bloom. 


Beitjamin Champney, son of Ebenezer, was bom in Groton, 
Mass., August 20, 1764. His mother was Abagail Tbowbbidge, 
daughter of Rev. Caleb Trowbridge, minister in that town. He 
was married in 1791, to Mercy Parker. By this marriage he had 
three children — 

Sarah, bom July 22, 1792. Died July 16, 1864. 

Maria, bom July 23, 1793. Died November 1, 1796. 

Benjamin, bom March 12, 1795. Died November 13, 1813. 

This Benjamin was pursuing his studies in Dartmouth College, 
when he was accidentally struck upon the head by a stone thrown 
by another member of the College, either in sport, or at random, 
causing a severe wound. But the fatal result did not follow mitil 
after several months suffering from partial derangement and epi«* 
lepsy. He exhibited, in early life, superior endowments, and if he 
had lived to maturity, would undoubtedly have been known as a 
brilliant scholar. 

Mrs. Mercy (Parker) Champney, died in 1795. The second 
marriage of Mr. Champney took place in 1809, with Rebecca 

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Bbooks, who was a native of New Ipswich, but whose family 
came from Lincoln, Mass. 
The children from that marriage were— 
Edwabd Waltbb, bom August 18, 1810. 
Geo. Mathbb, bom Maich 6, 1812. 
Maria Louisa, bom November 14, 1813. 
Ellkn Euza, bom October 17, 1815. 

Benjamin, born November 22, 1817. 

Mary Jane, bora November 22, 1819. Died March 2, 1837. 

Henry Trowbridge, born September 19, 1826. 

Edward Walter was married in 1846, to Caroline L. Floyd, 
daughter of John Floyd, thefirst "naval constructor" appointed 
by the TJ. S. Govemment under the act creating that office. They 
have no children. Mrs. C. died October 6, 1865. 

George Mather married in 1836, Lucy Ann Brown, daughter 
of Eleazar Brown, known for a long time as proprietor of 
Brown's Cotton Mills, in New Ipswich. 

Their children — 

Georgian A, bom September 20, 1887. Died August, 1838. 

George Edwabd, born February 12, 1839. Died April 20, 1842. 

Edwin Graves, born August 24, 1842. 

Ellen Feances, bom March 8, 1844. 

Anna Louisa, bom March 2, 1846. 

Maria Louisa married in October, 1837, to Francis K. Cragin. 

They have no children. 

Mr. Cragin previously married Lucy Preston, daughter of Dr. 
John Preston, of New Ipswich. Their children were Mary Jane 
and Lucy Maria, both at present successful teachers. 

Ellen Eliza Married Dr. John Clough, December, 1840. 
Children — Sarah Maria, bom April, 1842. 

Benjamin married Mary Caroline Brooks, July, 1863. Chil- 
dren — Benjamin Eensett, bom December 1854. Grace, bom 
August, 1866; died December, 1862. Edith, bom Febraary, 1859 ; 
died December, 1862. 

Henry Trowbridge married Lydia Parshley, November, 1849. 
They have no children. 

Of the ten children of my father, (three by first marriage and 
seven by the second,) but two have any living male issue — a son of 
George M. and one of Benjamin. From this it may be inferred that 
in our branch of the family the name is not unlikely to become 

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Boston, January 27, 1866. 

Dear Cousin Julius: — I remember promising you a contribution to your family 
memorial, but I then hardly knew what I could say to add to its value or interest. 
Not that enough might not be said to give you a pleasant page or two, but that it 
would require a practised pen and a good memory to do it fitly. I will, however, 
redeem my promise as well as I can. 

I presume you have a history of the *^ Champney Family,'' and perhaps intend 
to incorporate it in your book. In the history of New Ipswich the matter is gone 
into with considerable detail, especially with that branch of it with which we are 
connected. My father had much of the antiquarian spirit, but he had never found 
out who was the original Champney immigrant to New England. In some memo- 
randa of his, he states, that, as near as he can learn, *' three brothers of the name 
came to this country about the year 1660," but which of these was our ancestor 
he did not certainly know. And I think your father had no more definite infor- 
mation with regard to the early history of the family. It was not till the time of 
the Centennial Celebration of the settlement of our native town, and its history 
was about to be published, that my especial attention was called to the subject. 
On making inquiries, I found that all the facts were very accessible, and only re - 
quired a little time and patience to set them in order. Nearly everything bearing 
upon the genealogy of the family is contained in the records of the First Church 
in Cambridge, but is more fully developed in the town records of that place and 
of Brighton, which was .once a part of it. I had no great difficulty, therefore, 
(with the aid of some persons who had already gone over the same ground in 
searching for families that had intermarried with the Champney^s,) in tracing our 
ancestry in the male line to Elder Richard Champney, a prominent member of the 
church founded by the famous and godly Thomas Shepard. 

My father was better informed with regard to the female side of the family, as 
he had a clear record of it through the Trowbridges and Walters, to Sarah, 
daughter of Rev. John Cotton, who married Increase Mather, one of the early 
Presidents of Harvard College. But as your father was born of the second wife, 
(a Parker,) of our grandfather, it is very natural that you should be more inter- 
ested in the genealogy of the Parker family than in that of the Trowbridges ; 
though there is no good reason why I should not share your interest in the first, 
as your father's mother and my father's first wife were both Parkers, and sisters. 
It was a very unusual mingling of family ties for father and son to take to wife 
two daughters of the same house, and it very naturally created some coolness be- 
tween the parties for a time. You can very easily conceive that the senior 
Champney must have deemed it an act of exceeding presumption on the part of 
the son to marry the sister of his mother-in-law ! The alliance caused some very 
curious family connections. My father was not only a son, but a brother-in-law to 
his father. He was also brother and uncle to your father ; and his children by that 
wife were your father's brothers and sisters, and nephews and nieces at the same 
time. These singular relationships might be traced further, but I do not think it 
important. As I said, there is no reason why I should not seek out the Parker gene- 
alogy, considering my connection with it, (although my mother was named Brooks,) 
bat I have never undertaken it. I hope to find leisure at some time to do it. 

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While apon this subject of ancestry, I will add a word or two in relation to its 
more remote connections. Perhaps you are not aware that the Ghampney family 
is among the most ancient in the English annals. It is traceable back to the time 
of William the Conqueror. Sir Henry Ghampney was one of the Knights, or 
men-at-arms who followed that renowned fiUibuster from Normandy. This name 
is found among the valiant heroes who broke the Saxon power under the lead of 
Harold at the battle of Hastings, and is inscribed on the Roll of Honor deposited 
in Battle Abbey. The Abbey was built by William, in honor of the victory, upon 
the spot where Harold was slain. The English nobility regard this '*Roll of 
Honor '' as among the highest sources of their ancestral dignity. Although the 
" Gonqueror" was essentially an usurper, and a Frenchman as well, whom all Eng- 
lishmen are supposed naturally to hate, yet to him and his followers does the 
modern John Bull look for his surest passport to rank and distinction. Such are 
the metamorphoses time weaves into the affairs of nations and of men. I believe 
the Ghampneys have never received a higher title than that of Knight. Whether 
this is owing to a depreciation in noble deeds and bearing, or to a modesty that 
seeks no rewards in vain and pompous titles, I will not undertake to say. In Eng- 
land the name is always spelled with a final '^ s.'' But the Cambridge records, and 
the uniform usage in this country, so far as I know, leave that letter off. But the 
name has undergone fewer changes than almost any other of equal antiquity. It 
signifies, in the Norman French, a ** field in an island.^* I can well imagine that 
some Norman gentleman or Chevalier once had his chateau on an island in the 
Seine or Loire, and that in the interval of his ** feats in arms,'* he so cultivated 
his island fields as to acquire the peaceful surname of the family. 

But I must tell you that we have a coat of arms. I send you a drawing of it for 
any use you may wish to put it to. It is thus described : — The shield bears a 
lion rampant, and the crest is a leopard's head embraced in a ducal coronet. The 
device, ^'^ Pro PcUria rum Timidm Perire^^'' is thus translated — "Not afraid to 
die for our country," — an excellent maxim, and no doubt its practical exhibition 
gave honor to the founders of the name. But it has had a fresh and glorious 
illustration in the voluntary sacrifice of the lives of several sons of your family 
in our recent struggle for Union and Liberty. I do not believe that any heroes of 
the name ever fought in a worthier cause, or deserved more of their friends and 
country than the young men alluded to. I should like their names in full to in- 
scribe upon my Roll of Honor. 

But I must leave this matter of the general history of the family and speak of 
some things pertaining to our early life and my personal recollections. I have 
never seen a likeness of your father, but I very well remember his looks, 
although at his death, forty-five years ago, I could have been but seven or eight 
years old. The expression of his face, as it comes up in my " mind's eye," bears a 
mild and benevolent look, mingled with a slight touch of sadness. Not that there 
was any general moodiness or mental depression about him, but simply a tendency 
to pensiveness. The impression of his character always remaining with me is 
that of an amiable and genial man ; one who was fond of his family, and had 
a natural attraction for children. I know I was always glad to go down to " ITncle 
Eben's," both for the sake of seeing him and playing with the boys. A look upon 
his placid face, and a greeting from his cheerful voice, were always grateful to my 
childish heart. I think I have a very distinct recollection of his funeral. Was it 

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not in the spring, while yet t&e ground was partially coyered with snow ? I have 
no record to tell me the month in which he died ; only the year. But it seems to 
me I can now see the long procession as it moved over the hill and down the then 
new road to the meeting house. One old yellow chaise, (we were on wheels,) in 
particular, stands out in relief among the yehicles as a marked feature in the 
funeral line. I presume I must have been in the carriage immediately following 
it, and its bright body, from so long a ride, (to a child,) was thus imprinted most 
permanently in my memory. I think also I can see the snow patches by the side 
of the road, and in the woods that used to line it through the hollow, that divided 
the hill at my father's farm from the plateau where the meeting house stood. 
Whether these are facts or fancies, they are among the unfading pictures of my 
early life. For some unexplainable reason, they have impressed me stronger than 
the Masonic ceremonies that accompanied the funeral, the showy regalia, and the 
dropping of the evergreen twigs into the open grave. 

Another event connected with your family, produced a lasting impression upon 
my mind. I refer to the burning of your barns. That calamity must have hap< 
pened not far from the time of your father's death ; whether the summer before 
or after I cannot determine. But I do not forget the sensation caused by so 
unusual an occurrence in that quiet country town wherein we first saw the light. 
Beside the excitement created by the fire, I think I was also greatly terrified by 
the dreadful thunder peals and the vivid lightning that accompanied the shower 
from which the fatal bolt was discharged. I believe I did not visit the scene until 
the next day, but the rapidly ringing fire bell, the loud cries of the citizens, the 
running to and fro with water buckets, and the general confusion, were sufficiently 
appalling without witnessing the conflagration iiself. In this connection, I re- 
member with pride and pleasure the action taken by the towns people in promptly 
going to the forests and preparing the materials for a new barn. Within a short 
space of time, they were hauled to the spot, and soon there arose a new structure, 
equal, if not superior to that which had been reduced to ashes. Things are done 
differently now-a-days. The sympathies of a community are expressed through an 
insurance office, and unfortunate is the man who sees his house, barn, or goods 
devoured by the flames without a protecting policy. The world condemns his 
folly, and in the same proportion stints its charity. 

In what year you left going to the old school house, in the center of the town, 
to attend the one upon the " Knights hill," or the new one in the Factory Village, 
I have no means of knowing ; but I have a clear recollection of the presence of 
yourself and brothers in that sacred old building at the foot of the hill near my 
father's house. I wish I could recall the place where you used to sit, but I cannot 
do it distinctly. And yet I have an. impression that it was towards the south win- 
dow, and not far from the seat of Wash. Batchelder. Your brothers, Jonas and 
Eben, I think had a place among the '* big boys," on the back seat. What an 
elevated and dignified position that seemed to us smaller boys ! I believe you left 
school, as I did, before the period of translation to that august post. But I am 
sure of one thing in connection with the back row of seats, and that is, that the 
benches could have been none the worse hacked and furrowed than were those 
occupied by the more juvenile boys. Our knives were as sharp, our industry as 
great, and our innate vandalism as wanton and active as the biggest in the school. 
It may not be commendable, but it is very laughable to think of those poor old 

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benches, and recall the deep incisions made in their surfaces by ** picked-pinted " 
instruments. Incipient artists "made faces,*' embryonic chirographers turned 
out what were supposed to be letters of the alphabet, and future engineers exe- 
cuted diagrams and excavated dry moats and trenches. If there was anything 
that the youthful imagination could not devise, or its ingenuity attempt to por- 
tray, it must have been outside of the pages of Dante or Milton. What would be 
thought of such juvenile antics in these days? Every one would be subjected to 
a discipline of which the " old school " urchins knew nothing, and every teacher 
permitting such vandalism would receive a summary discharge. 

Your father's house was so situated that you always had in view the old Souhe- 
gan river. 3ut I had not />ften seen it before I was ten years old. Occasionally 
my father would take me to the factory, or my mother to "gran-sir Brooks," and, 
as I gazed upon the " great waters," I felt as awe-struck as an Englishman who 
had only seen the Trent or Severn, would be on a sudden translation to the banks 
of the Mississippi. That immense bridge that spanned the Souhegan on the road 
to uncle Jonas's, was to me, who was only accustomed to the three foot structure 
that crossed the brook in our village, a wonder of art. But I got better acquainted 
with the bridge and the stream as I grew in stature and years, and at length could 
dive headlong from the first into the clear water, and draw from the depths of the 
last as many perch and pickerel as the best angler of them all. But what an ex- 
panse there was to that interval through which the Souhegan quietly pursued its 
way, and how long the journey from the bridge to the " elbow," and thence to 
the edge of the wood from which the stream issued I That point was the very 
" ultima thule " of my angling travels. On one occasion, while fishing up the 
river, with a lad beside me who was carrying my "briny spoil," he plunged them 
in the water to keep them fresh. On the instant we were both greatly startled by 
the sudden leaping upon the bank of some monster of the deep. Having only a 
glimpse of the creature, as he struggled back to his native element, and magni- 
fying its proportions in our fright, we hurridly scampered from the spot. But a 
, moment's reflection reassured me, and I ventured to return. I then suggested to 
my companion to again introduce his fish into the water. He did so, and in a 
moment I saw a huge pickerel approaching, with his eyes intently fixed upon his 
already captured fellows. He looked at them, and I looked at him. I dangled 
my dissected frog before him, but he took no notice of the usually tempting bait* 
A more appetizing feast was near him. Still he gazed, and still hesitated to make 
the second leap. I bethought me of a little strategy to apply to the novel exi- 
gency. Stripping my hook bare, I very carefully let it into the water near the 
jaws of the fascinated pike, and when I thought it well adjusted to the right spot, 
I sprung my rod with a sudden jerk, and in a moment he was landed. It was a 
noble fellow ; I believe one of the largest that are ever caught in that stream. 
Tou may well infer that my feelings at the result of the adventure, were suffi- 
ciently jubilant. I marched home with as proud a step as the hero of a well 
fought field. 

But these childish experiences are scarcely worth relating, and I should have no 
hope of their being entitled to any consideration, were you not interested in the 
localities mentioned. That makes the most insignificant events and places some- 
times wear a charmed character. How true this is respecting our native place. 
I have lived in Woburn, my present residence, eighteen years, which are four more 

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tlian I lived in New Ipswich, and yet how alight is my attachment to this town 
when compared to our old one. And how little, in comparison, do I know about 
it. When I think of New Ipswich, I recall every road, field, meadow, wood-lot, 
brook and hill, and they all seem as familiar as the rooms and furniture of a long 
used dwelling. But Woburn is still, for the most part, to me a terra in eognita, I 
know but little of it, and that little I cannot in any sense recognize as a part of 
myself. We have elm trees here, and some fine specimens, too ; but there is no 
one that fills such a place in my regard as that dear old one that stands in the 
yard of my father's old house, and spreads its broad and graceful branches over 
roof and garden. How many youthful sports have we enjoyed beneath its ample 
shade ! It was, very justly, the pride of the village. My father did not plant it, 
but its age was about the same as his. It must now be nearly or quite one hun- 
dred years old. Woburn htts also its valleys, woods, and fields, and to many they 
must have all the interest that attaches to a birth-place ; and yet I cannot see in 
them the beauty and charm that invest these same natural features in New Ips- 
wich. I have, perhaps, kept those more freshly in my memory than some who left 
there in early life, for I have almost yearly made the town a visit since my first 

But there is one spot in New Ipswich that I never saw until 1851, and that is 
the Hoar Pond. Among all my wandefings, I had never made a discovery of that. 
I then determined to search it out. Its general locality I suppose I knew, but I 
was more puzzled to find it than I expected. I dare say you have been many 
times on its shores, and perhaps on its surface. I do not think it deserves the 
dignified name of ^^ pond," for it is scarcely half a dozen acres in extent, and is 
very difficult of access. Its banks are swampy, and crowded with a thick growth 
of alders and other dwarf trees. I cannot imagine it to have been a place for suc- 
cessful fishing. At any rate it never, fixed itself as such among my youthful 
fancies, and a sight of it by no means excited in me vain regrets at the loss of 
great piscatorial amusement. 

You of course remember the old cider-mill that used to stand near the junction 
of the roads that led to your house and to uncle Jonas's ? That was the scene of 
many "good times." In the autumn season, when the period came for cider- 
making, I was as fond of giving as many visits to " the farm '^ as possible. I seem 
to see the old horse still going his patient rounds, attached to the long beam that 
moved the apple-crushing cogs. And there is the pumice falling into the huge bin 
made for its reception. Now it is shoveled into the basin where the great press 
is brought to bear upon it, and soon the amber-liquid flows into the "half- 
hogshead " set to receive it. The boys are then ready for action. Good smooth 
and hard straws are selected from a bundle, inserted into the saccharine juice, 
and many long and arduous breathings are made in transferring the delicious 
nectar to their capacious stomachs. Wasn't that fun ? Have any of the modern 
drinks that are absorbed through " straws," power to satisfy the palate or the im- 
agination equal to that ? While speaking of cider and apples, I am reminded of 
the quality of the fruit from which the cider was made. You cannot have forgo 
ten the great variety of small and sour apples which were then cultivated. Anything 
was considered good enough to put through the cider press. In fact that was the 
main object in growing apples at all. I think that neither your nor my father's 
orchard had many trees that bore fruit fit for the table. But what quantities of 

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cider were annually stored in every cellar. That was the chief beverage of the 
old New England families. It was found upon the table at every meal, with as 
much uniformity as the plate of brown bread. It required a l^uge pitcher of it to 
supply the triple daily needs, and that went the round of the table without the 
intervention of mug or tumbler. Did you ever perform the office of tapster? 
I have done it very frequently. I got along very well in descending to the cellar 
in the day-time, but if it fell to my lot to fill the pitcher for the evening libation, 
it made my " firm nerves tremble," to penetrate its gloomy recesses by the doubt- 
ful light of a tallow candle. But I never saw anything more terrible than my 
own shadow. Yet it was a great relief to get back again to the more tangible 
company and cheerful light of the kitchen. 

But I have lengthened my '* remarks" until they will fairly compete with the 
sermons we used to hear in old times from Mr. Hall, Mr. Hill, and Mr. Miles ; and as 
I know that those were not very highly relished, on account of their sixteenthly^s 
and seventeenthly's, I will bring to a close these discursive reminiscences. 
Faithfully your friend and cousin, 


Cousin John Preston writes: 

New Ipswich, January 18, 1866. 
Mt Diab Cousin : — ' 

I have been resolved to write you for the last three weeks, but 
although I have improved wonderfully since I saw you, yet I am still so weak that 
writing is an eifort which I do not undertake unless necessary. I learn that yon 
obtained a copy of the New Ipswich History when you was here, and I am not 
able to give you much information that you will not find recorded there. 

My mother and your father were born in the farm house which I now own. 
Uncle JoNiB was born in a very few days after our grandfather moved to Groton 
for a short time. I have heard my mother say that he was born so soon, (I think 
within a week,) after our grandfather's removal, that the town officer of Groton, under 
the old laws to prevent paupers, warned him out of town, although born there. 

My recollections of your &ther and uncle Jonas are very pleasant. They came 
to see my mother almost always together, and I think as often as twice a week at 
least. Both of them were very kind to every body. My older brother, Eben, and 
I used frequently to go down and spend the day with our much loved uncles, and 
were always sure of a hearty welcome. I was away at college for the last two 
years of your father's life, and saw but little of him. I was also away when our 
uncle Jonas died. 

I remember our grandfather, although I was but ei^t years old when he died — 
too young to give you much information about him. The names of my mother's 
children you will find in the New Ipswich History. My oldest nster, Rebscoa, 
died at the age of seven years. My sister Luct, who married Francis E. Cragen, 
died in December, 1886, leaving two daughters — ^Mary Jane, who is an accom- 
plished teacher in St. Lcuis, Mo., and Luct Maria, who resides with her father at 
Wobum. My sister, Maria, died in 1880, 20 years of age. Thomas B. died in 
July, 1862, and William H. in January, 1866. Eliza married Mr. E. L. Hammonb 

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and they live in Northampton, Mass. Rebecoa, my youngest sister, married B. F. 
Whipple, and they live at Huntington, Mass., and my mother resides with them. 

My wife was Elizabeth S. French, of Townsend. We have had seven children. 
liOBENzo died in 1886, 6^ years old. Elizabeth A. died ISS^, 6| years old. Sabah 
Elizabeth died 1842, 1^ years old. Hariah A. F., died in 1852, 16 years old. 

William A. is cashier of our bank. Frank W. lives with us, and Mart 
Arabella also. Accept our best wishes for yourself and family. 

Yours, very truly, 



I am under obligations to Geobge M. Champney for a copy of 
T?ie Family Coat of ArmSy wliicli is here ^ven. I was not aware 
that there existed anything of the kind belonging to our family, but 
am informed that it was found in a Heraldry office some years 
since, by a member of his family. The number of generations it 
has passed through I am not able to give, yet the Champnby name 
is quite ancient, although there are but few bearing the name now. 
The design, perhaps might not be the choice of the present genera- 
tion were they disposed to get up a device for that purpose, but we 
must consider that this came from old England, where the people 
were always partial to the lion and other ferocious beasts. One 
thing we can boast, it has required a family of some distinction to 
be entitled to a " Coat of Arms I" 

Had these people lived in our own d$y, it is probable they might 
have selected a different figure for the family arms. The lion is a 
noble animal, to be sure, but the eagle soars above him, and is the 
proud emblem of our nation's glory and immensity, and in his lofty 
flight he looks down upon all that walk beneath. 

The motto, being interpreted, appears very appropriate here: 
"Not afraid to die for our country.'' 

When our nation became imperiled by the great rebellion, and 
the storm of death raged in the land, our boys were all in arms and 
at the front, demonstrating the fact that they were "not afraid to 
die for their country." 

We have passed through a horrible gloom of four years of des- 
perate civil strife, the memory of which will haunt some of our 
families like a dismal dream to the end of life. But we have been 
delivered by the fierce agony and bloody sweat of our toiling and 
suffering soldiers, and it is a source of pride and pleasure that our 
family were so well represented on the battle-fields of glory. 

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At the breaking out of the war I was in Georgia, and at the 
Presidential election voted for Bell and Everett, as there was no 
Lincoln ticket there. My vote was challenged by an officer with a 
pistol in his hand, and who looked daggers at me, knowing that I 
was a Yankee ; but I voted, notwithstanding the flourish of pistols 
and knives. When South Carolina went out of the Union, there 
was great rejoicing ; houses were lit up, and the soldiers turned 
out with music and cannon. A comrade from New York and 
myself went into the street and sang the Star Spmigled Banner ^ 
which brought on an assault, but we came off best. My friend 
enlisted in one of the Georgia regiments, and I left for Florida. 
Since then I saw him at Newbern, N. C, in the 3d N. Y. Artillery, 
he having made his escape from the rebel army. 

While in Florida, I joined the Home Guards, being compelled to 
do something, and was put in orderly sergeant. At this time the 
country was in great excitement; every one thought that England 
was surely going to help them, and Northern men had to suffer in 
every possible manner for Union sentiments. When the United 
States gun-boat Mohawk came to blockade the port of St. Marks, 
the people were panic-stricken, and seemed bewildered, their excite- 
ment was so great. A large number went down to see the boat, 
but the rebels were very much frightened, even at so few a number 
of men. I obtained a small sail-boat, and got two men to go with 
me, and we went down to visit the Mohawk, went on board, and 
revealed to the captain every thing I knew concerning the situation 
of the rebels in Florida. Bidding Capt. Jones good-bye, we started 
for home, haviag six miles to go to get to the fort, and it being 
dark, we had a serious time in finding our way. We arrived home, 
however, in time for breakfast in the morning, and about 8 o'clock 
there came a body of soldiers, commanded by a lieutenent, and 
took us all prisoners, we having been watched in going on board 
the Mohawk. I asked what we were arrested for, but they gave 
me no answer, but kept us all day and night in an old shed under 
guard. The next morning we had our trial before Gen. Maxwell, 
of the rebel army. The General thought the proof against us was 
not sufficient to hold us prisoners, but the citizens insisted that we 
should be tried by them, consequently we were taken to Talla- 
hassee, under escort of the same soldiers, for trial. I was pretty 
well known in this place, and when we got off the cars at the 

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depot, Northern men would not look at us, but there was a mob 
ready to wait upon us with ropes and guns to take our hves. It 
was all that the soldiers could do to keep the mob off. One man 
came running out of his house with his gun ready cocked, crying, 
"Where is Champney, the traitor? — I will kill him I" We were 
taken into the Capitol, where we were safe from the mob, and 
remained in one room for a week, and every day we were told that 
at 6 o'clock in the morning we were to be shot We were tried 
for treason to the Confederate States. They proved nothing against 
us, and the General blamed them for not firing a gun, and we were 
let off by paying a fine of one hundred dollars. After my release. 
Judge Henderson came to me and wanted me to take the oath of 
allegiance to the Southern Confederacy, and he would make me 
captain of a company and take some soldiers down on the coast. I 
told him I should never take the oath, neither should I ever take up 
arms against the United States ; I belong to the North, am a Mas- 
sachusetts man, and am glad of it. He coaxed for a long time, but 
I informed him that there was no use of his talking to me, because 
I belonged to the United States. He then gave me 24 hours to 
leave the State. I started immediately, for I knew the feeling 
towards me, and went to Lake City to see my wife, and while there 
the people w6re going to mob me, and would if I had been seen in 
the street. I left in the night for MonticellOjFl'a., avoiding Tallahas- 
see, as I learned they were looking anxiously for me, and, as they 
termed it, were going to "Jo-moke" me — ^tie me to a tree and whip 
me to death. From Monticello I took stage to Albany, Ga., and 
from there by cars to Macon, thence to Atlanta. I carried some 
good recommendations with me from different master mechanics of 
the South, which I often had to show in order to get along, as I 
was questioned in every train by the conductors. I stopped but a 
short time in Atlanta, and started for Chattanooga, where I arrived 
at 4 o'clock in the morning and stopped until 6. Here the rebel 
soldiers were pretty thick, and I heard them say that they had been 
up to Parson Brownlow's and whipped his wife, but the old devil 
himself could not be found, but they would kill him yet I got on 
board the cars for Nashville, Tenn., and here I was stopped and 
put under arrest for not having a pass. I was a stranger here, and 
could get no one to vouch for me, and I was kept nine days on corn 
bread and water, but gave me a guard to go out on the street in 
order that I might find some one who knew me. I finally had to 
telegraph to Tallahassee and got a return that I was a good South- 

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ern rights man. They then gave me a pass, but wonld not give me 
my papers which they had taken from me. I went to the depot to 
take the cars, and while there a lady came and asked me to assist 
her in getting her baggage on board the cars. I did so, and found 
she had a pass like my own and was going to the same place, Louis, 
ville, Ky. The cars were full of rebel officers, and I sat with the 
lady some of the way, and found that I knew her husband well, he 
being from Adams, Mass., my own town. The officers began to 
look with suspicion towards us, and it was not long before we were 
both under arrest, and a guard placed over each of us, and when 
we arrived at Bowling Green, I was put in the freight house, and 
the lady went to a hotel, both under guard. The next morning I 
was taken back to Nashville, as a spy, but the officers there told 
them that I. had proved myself clear the day before, and I was 
released again, and a dispatch was sent to release the lady also. I 
persuaded the officer that took me back to Nashville, to write on a 
slip of paper that Fred. W. Champney was all right, which helped 
me to get another pass to Green River. Here I had to be searched 
thoroughly, taking off my clothes, and my valise was opened, and 
all my things given to the soldiers, and my money also. Here I 
expected to remain, at least for a while, as I had no means of get- 
ting away. I went out on the street, and was soon accosted by a 
man who inquired if I knew Jonas Champney, of South Adams. I 
answered yes, but 1 could not tell who he was until he told me his 
name. He was a rebel, and told me to tell the boys that they 
would whip them. My reply was, "You can tell that to fools, but 
not to Yankees I" He bid me to be careful, and an adieu. I took 
the cars for Green River, where I attempted to avoid the pickets, 
but was soon picked up by the soldiers. I presented my pass to 
Green River, but was told that that was good for nothing any 
further. I then went to headquarters, where the Colonel said he 
would pass me out of his lines but no further. I asked him to give 
me something to show that I had been before him, in case I were 
stopped by the soldiers, but he told me to go about my business 
and not trouble him any more. As I passed outside the lines, I was 
insulted by every soldier I met, calling me a Lincoln snow-digger, 
Massachusetts abolitionist, and all such like epethets. When I got 
to the last pickets of cavalry, I was taken up, and they were going 
to carry me back. I was tired and worn out, and now, for the first 
time, I felt like crying. I plead most earnestly against being taken 
back, and finally prevailed on them to let me go. I overheard 

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them talking about going into the Union lines, and they were pre- 
paring to do so. It was now dark, and I walked a few miles far- 
ther and came to a deserted house, with no doors or windows, and 
being exhausted, I entered and lay down, and enjoyed a most re- 
freshing sleep. The morning came, and I was early on the road, it 
being now thirty miles to the Union lines. I traveled on, foot-sore 
and weary, at times enlivened with hope, and at other times quiver- 
ing with fear. At last I beheld Union soldiers. Did I ever behold 
so grand a sight before? I wept for joy; no tongue can express 
the deep gratitude I experienced on my safe deliverance from the 
enemies of my country. I went before Gen. Rousseau, and he took 
me to Gen. Sherman, and I gave them the rebel pass-word, and in- 
formed them of the contemplated raid into the Union lines, which 
proved to be of great service to our generals. I was treated very 
kindly by the officers in command, and after becoming rested and 
recruited, they ordered a team and carried me twelve miles, to 
Lebanon Junction. The regiments here were from Illinois. At 
this place I met with an Eastern man, who gave me 26 cents. I 
was passed to Louisville, Ky,, and all the way my 25 cents bought 
all that I ate during the way home, finding no further difficulty 
after leaving Louisville. 

I was quite emaciated when I arrived home, but in two weeks I 
left for Boston, and engaged with Gen. Butler as machinist and 
engineer, and went out on the ship King Fisher. We arrived at 
Ship Island in 15 days after leaving Boston, having lost 73 hours 
on our way by the violent storm. Here the officers of the navy 
heard that I could run a Mississippi bopt, and came for me. I vol- 
unteered and started on the Henry Lewis^ a boat of eight guns, for 
Beloxia, and when within a half a mile of the town, we fired a few 
shots. They answered with a siege gun, but soon surrendered, giv- 
ing up all their arms and provisions, and we returned with the pro- 
ceeds. I then went on the steamer Annay and run that boat until 
Gen. Butler came. I was Captain part of the time, but acted 
mostly in the capacity of engineer. I was oflfered good situations 
in the regular navy, but preferred to remain with Gen. Butler. He 
gave me chief engineer's papers and extra pay from the time I left 
Boston. He intended to make me captain of the gun-boat Gal- 
houn^ but through envy of some other officers, he failed to do it. 
Then I was promised the first boat captured The General was on 
the boat with me watching out, and with his glass he discovered 
tile P. C. WaUacCy a rebel boat loaded with stores, going by, and 

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Google _ 


behind Cat Island were several U. S. boats, and the rebel boat 
running straight towards them, and before they found out their 
mistake they received a broadside and were captured, and the 
boats were soon seen coming with the P. 01 Wallace in tow. 
Gen. Butler says, "There comes a boat for you, Champney !" The 
stores were taken off, and in a short time steamed up. I being 
chief, I had four engineers under me, and we started for the Missis* 
sippi river, but the boat did not reach there, as the machinery 
broke 18 miles out, and then commenced leaking. We took to the 
small boats and were picked up by the steamer Sojxon soon after, 
and the Wallace went down. 

I was at New Orleans at the surrender of that city, and when the 
31st Massachusetts regiment went ashore. Oh I what an indignant 
people, to be obliged to succumb to the Yankees. I was taken 
sick immediately on my arrival here, and soon as able got my dis- 
charge and returned home. 

I would say that during the war I enlisted 32 men for the 4th 
Massachusetts cavaliy, 22 for the 61st Massachusetts, and a com- 
pany of 100 days men, and served as Lieutenant during that time. 


By the kindness of Fbedebick Kiddeb, Esq., of Boston, we 
were informed of a pamphlet recently issued by Rev. F. W. Whit- 
ney, of Brighton, Mass., containing an address delivered by him 
in that town, February 10, 1866, at the funeral of Mrs. Susanna 
Pabk Champney, who died Febiniary 10, in her 96th year, together 
with an Appendix containing a genealogical notice of the Champ- 
ney and Pabk families. 

By addressing the Reverend gentleman, brother Lewis obtained 
two copies of the pamphlet, which was found to contain much 
valuable information, and we have taken the liberty to copy that 
portion that relates to the Champney family. 

Solomon, the one mentioned as being killed by his ox team, was 
a brother to the Hon. Ebenezeb Champney, our grandfather, who 
were born in that portion of Cambridge now known as Brighton. 

In the funeral address, the author says: "Her father was of the 
fourth generation in lineal descent from Richabd Pabk, who was a 
proprietor at Cambridge in 1636, and whose large estate of six 

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hundred acres, on which he shortly settled, lay in Newton, on the 
northwestern border of Brighton. She was married on the second 
day of February, 1792, to Nathaniel Champnbt, son of Solomon 
and Rebecca Cuampney, of this place, a descendant in the sixth 
generation of Elder Richabd Champney, one of the first settlers 
of Cambridge — one of the earliest benefactors of Harvard College, 
and an esteemed officer of the first Church in Cambridge. From 
the day of her marriage, she resided in the same house where she 
died — a period of sixty-three years — and, at the time of her death, 
was the oldest person in town." 

The address is interesting; we cannot give it publication entire, 
but will select that portion of the pamphlet which relates to the 
family name, commencing with an account of the husband of the 


It appears that Captain Nathaniel Champney, husband of the 
subject of our notice, on the death of his father, April, 1763, went 
to live, (not then seven years old,) in the family of John and Mercy 
Stratton, by whom he was brought up, and from whom he inherited 
the estate on which he lived and died, and which is now owned 
and occupied by his son William. This estate, lying on the north 
side of Washington Street, at its junction with Faneuil Street, was 
purchased, as I find by the original deed, March 13, 1716-6, of 
'* Daniel Maccoone, of Cambridge, Yeoman," (whether he occupied 
it then or not, is not stated,) "by Ebenezer Stratton, of Newton, 
Tailor," father of John, for 252 pounds. It is described as com- 
prising " one dwelling-house and barn and ten acres and one-half 
of land and orcharding." I suppose that then, or shortly after, 
Ebenezer Stratton came to reside here ; since, by deed, August 27, 
1717, Joseph Fuller, Jr., of Newton, conveys to "Ebenezer Stratton, 
of Cambridge^'^ woodland in Newton, ten acres and uinety rods, 
for 30 pounds. 

This house must therefore be very ancient, since it was pur- 
chased of Maccoone,* 140 years ago, by Ebenezer Stratton. Eben- 

*This name may be the same as that spelt Makoon, in the list of members of 
Ist Church, Camb., in time of Mitchell, as quoted by Rev. Dr. Newell, in appendix 
to his sermon, 1846, en the Cambridge Church-Gathering. Farmer gives the name 
of Magoon, and of Makoon, which he conjectures may be the same. Jackson, 
Hist, of Newton, p. 868, speaks of "Daniel Macoy [or Mackay], a Scotchman, 

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ezer was son of John and Abigail, of Watertown; and he married, 
June 6, 1716, Lydia [Fuller? Daughter of Joseph?] and died here, 
1735. His widow, Lydia, died here 1747-8. His son John, who 
brought up Nathaniel Champney, was bom here, August 9, 1726; 
married, as by Old Cambridge Records, Mercy Norcross, May 3, 
1749, and died here, November 21, 1791. She died here, June 27, 
1791, aged 61. 

Nathaniel Champney died here, November 12, 1826, and was in- 
terred in his tomb on the 14th. The Address has spoken of his 
worth, and of the respect in which he was universally held. An 
obituary appeared in the Soaton JPatriot and Chronicle^ November 
18, 1826, and a more extended notice in the Boston Traveler, 
November 17, in which his domestic virtues, his public spirit, and 
his strict integrity in the various trusts and offices which he sus- 
tained, are faithfully portrayed. He represented the town in the 
State Legislature. He filled and adorned many of the civil offices 
of the town. ''As a husband he was most kind and affectionate, as 
a father he was tender and indulgent, yet careful and strict in the 
performance of his parental duties." He died of an affection of 
the heart, angina pectoris, with which he had been some months 
oppressed. Death came to him suddenly, but not unexpectedly. 
On the Sabbath morning of his death, he walkedout from his 
house; came in about 11 o'clock; observed to his wife that he 
expected another attack of the complaint which he had before 
experienced; sat down in a chair, and instantly expired. 


The family came to that part of Cambridge now Brighton. 
Several of the earliest Cambridge families settled in this, the 
southern section of the town. The Sparhawk family, one of the 
first, came here. Richard Dana, the progenitor of the Dana family 
in this country, came to what is now Brighton, and had his large 
estate here bordering on the entire western side of Market Street, 
which street was laid out wholly through his estate, in 1666. 

who bought land in Cambridge Village in 1678, and in 16*79,*' about on the 
site of the Champney estate. **Magoone, Henry/* was at Exeter, N. H., 1661. 
" Magoune, Henry," had land at St. Albans, Yt, 1666. In the deed to Stratton, 
the name is written with great distinctness, Maccoone^ and the deed is signed 
a« by the tremulous hand of an old man. 

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Brighton was set off and incorporated as a distinct town February 
28, 1807. The Charles River separates it from Cambridge. Cam- 
bridge, Brighton and Newton, were, at first, 1631, one town, called 
Newtown. In the records of Massachusetts, May 2, 1638, "It is 
ordered that Newetowne* shall henceforward be called Cambridge." 
That part lying on the south side of Charles River, now embraced 
in Brighton and Newton, was known originally as "Cambridge 
Village," "New Cambridge," and "Nonantura," which signified, 
in the Indian language, rejoicing. The town of Newton was set 
ofif and incorporated in 1679; leaving what is now Cambridge and 
Brighton and West Cambridge one town until 1807. 

Elder Richard Cbampney was descended from Sir Henry Ch:imp- 
ney, one of the thirty brave warriors who fought at the battle 
of Hastings, October 14, 1066, under William the Conqueror. 
William, after his conquest, erected a magnificent Abbey at Battle, 
six miles from Hastings, over the spot where the body of the unfor- 
tunate King Harold was found. The ruins of Battle Abbey are 
very stately, and it is still occupied. The names of the thirty 
brave warriors are recorded here, and, among them. Sir Henry 
Champney. His descendant, Richard, came from Lincolnshire, 
England, to this place in 1634-5. He was made freeman* in 1636, 
and, with Jane, his wife, was among the first members of the 
Church. Shepard, the first Cambridge minister, in his autobiog- 
raphy, speaks of "Brother Champney" as a "most deare saint." 
He was Ruling Elder in the church ; " whose business," says Cotton 
Mather, in his Ratio DisciplinsB, "it was to assist the pastor in 
visiting the distressed, instructing the ignorant, reducing the erro- 
neous, comforting the afflicted, rebuking the unruly, discovering 
the state of the whole flock, exercising the discipline of the Gospel 

*To become a freeman, one must be a member of the church. Permission 
having then been obtained from the General Court, or from the Quarterly Court 
of the County, the freeman's oath was taken before a magistrate. In 1664, those 
might be made freemen who brought certificates from clergymen acquainted with 
them, of their being correct in doctrine and conduct. Freemen only could hold 
offices, or vote for rulers. And yet many church-members refused to take the 
freeman's oath, from unwillingness to serve in any public office. The oath, as 
altered and amended by the General Court, May 14, 1684, ran thus: — "I, A, B., 
being by God's providence an inhabitant and freeman within the jurisdiction of 
this Commonwealth, do freely acknowledge myself to be subject to the govern- 
ment thereof, and therefore do here swear, by the great and dreadful name of the 
Everlasting God, that I will be true and faithful to the same,'* &c., &c. — Records 
of Massachusetts, The custom of making freemen ceased about 1686. 

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npoD often ders, and promoting the desirable growth of the church.'^ 
The office, distinct from that of the deacons, was held in most, but 
not in all, of the New England churches, and has long been dis- 

Richard Champney appears often in " The Regestere Booke of 
the Lands and Houses in the Newtowne," as "Grantor" and 
" Grantee," — ^that is seller and buyer of real estate, — first, as early 
as September 26, 1637, when he buys of William Wadsworth. His 
name occurs often in the early town records. 

** June 7, 1647. Ordered by the Townsmen, that the land on the south side of 
the water [now Brighton], abutting upon the cast side of Mr. Sparahawk^s fields,, 
about 40 acres, more or less, is by these presents sold unto Richard Champnis, to 
be prized by the Townsmen at a ralnable price.*^ 

"Also, there having been granted unto him 100 acres of land to be an addition 
to his farm, by 12 men that were deputed to dispose to every man his portion of 
the common lands, it is by these presents confirmed to him ; and he is to have it 
on the east side of the further division on the further side of the water [Brighton]^ 
and is to allow unto the Town what it shall be thought more worthy than if he 
had it by his farm on the other side." 

"July 30, 1647. Ordered that Elder Champnis shall pay to the Town 20«. per 
acre for the upland lying by Mr. Sparahawk's railc ; 6«. Sd. per acre for the swamp. 
Also he shall allow for the hundred acres in exchange for that by his farm either 
£20, or else let the wood lie common to the Town." 

It appears that Elder Richard first built on this side of the river, 
in 1647, the date of his purchase. May 13, 167i2, a committee 
appointed to view a piece of land on the south side (now Brighton), 
in dispute, claimed by Samuel and Daniel Champney, sons of 
Richard, "testify it is no part of the 40 acres sold to Elder 
Champney by the town, when he first built in that place [italics 
ours], and testify that it was no part of the 100 acres which the 
Town granted him, and was laid out on the westerly side of Mr. 
Mitchell's lot." 

Richard died here, November 26, 1669, bequeathing forty acres 
of land on the south side of the river to Harvard College, *' as an 
expression of his willingness to further the education of youth in 
all godly literature." 

This was no inconsiderable bequest, even rating the land at 205. 
per acre, as above. An order, we may remember, was passed by 
the Court, November, 1644, desiring every family in the Colony to 
contribute twelve pence, or a peck of corn, to the treasury of the 

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SoLOMO^T, (son of Solomon and Elizabeth), born January V, 
1*724-5 ; married Rebecca Brown, of New Ipswicb, N. H., and was 
killed here instantly, having fallen from his loaded ox-wagon, and 
the wheel passing over his neck, Tuesday evening, April 5, 11 6S^ 
Particulars of this accident may be found in the Boston Weekly 
News Letter^ Thursday, April 7, 1763. It occurred, as one tradi- 
tion has it, on Rockland Street, near the junction of South Street, 
as the wagon, going east, was descending a steep hill near the 
present estate of Daniel Waugh. By another tradition, the wagon 
was descending the hill on Washington, near Shepard Street. 
Solomon's widow married January 2, 1766, James Holton, of this 
place, who died here April 16, 1789, aged 60. She was admitted, 
March 27, 1785, to 1st church, Brighton, then 3d church, Cam* 
bridge; and died here, October 27, 1805, aged 71. Their son, 
Benjamin, (Major) born here, February 13, 1775, on Washington 
Street, (present site of Horace W. Jordan's house) ; married here, 
3iay 2, 1799, Mary, daughter of Thomas and Hepzibah (Winship) 
Shed, who died here April 28, 1844, aged 67» He died here, April 
15, 1853. Their children all born here; James^ April 12, 1800, 
owns and occupies his father's estate, Fanenil Street, unm. CJmrles^ 
October, 22, 1802; died here February 15, 1854, unm. Mary 
Winship (Mrs. Aaron Colby), February 9, 1805; died here, October 
29, 1851. Benjamin, March 7, 1807; died here, November 14, 
1826, unm. 

I find on the Records, the names of only two children of Solomon 
and Rebecca Champney — Nathaniel and Isaac. But I am informed 
that there were, also, sons Nathan and Thomas* 

Nathaniel (son of Solomon and Rebecca), Selectman and Rep- 
resentative, &C.J born here December 28, .1756, on Washington 
Street, opposite present residence of James Dana; married and 
died as stated above. His three children, all born here, follow in 
italics. 1. John Stratton, born November 14, 1792; studied medi- 
cine with Dr. Ingalls, Boston; M. D. at Brown University, 1821 5 
held a commission as Surgeon of the Regiment; a Physician at 
East Bridgewater, and afterwards at South AbingtOD, where he 
died August 6, 1847, from injuries received on 2d inst, while em- 
ployed on his farm. He married South Abington, August 21, 1823, 
Sally, daughter of Col. Aaron Hobart. She died. East Bridgewater, 
May 2, 1826, aged 35. He married June 14, 1827, her sister, 
Abigail Adams Hobart. She died January 15, 1844, aged 60. His 
5 children, the first one born East Bridgewater, the others. South 

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Abington, were — ^John Stratton, July 14, 1824; drowned near his 
home. December 25, 1833. Sarah Hobart, December 22, 1828. 
Nathaniel Champney, August 6, 1830; died South Adams, Septem- 
ber 15, 1846. Aaron Hobart, March 20, 1832 ; died South Adams, 
October 23, 1846. Abigail Adams, March 29, 1834. 2. Imcyy 
born January 20, 1796; married here March 20, 1827, Jonathan 
Loring Reed, born March 6, 1791, East Bridgewater, son of Jona- 
than and Deborah (Porter). She died. South Adams, January 12, 
1844. Their 2 children, born there, Susanna Champney, December 
30, 1827; Lucy Loring, August 5, 1830; married there. May 3, 
1855, Joshua Vining Gurney, born there, August 3, 1830, son of 
Cliandler Bobbins and Sally (Vining), and lives, North Bridge- 
water. Mr. Reed married (1st wife), December 23, 1817, South 
Adams, Charlotte Brown, born there, April 2, 1793, and died there, 
December 21, 1825, daughter of Daniel and Mehitable (Tirrell). 
Their daughter, Charlotte Brown, born South Adams, May 28, 
1821, married August 15, 1844, Edwin Gurney, son of C. R. Gurney, 
above, and has Edwin Loring, born South Adams, June 10, 1845. 
Mr. Reed married (3d wife) Mrs. Ann Wells, daughter of Joshua 
and Sarah (Seaver) Learned, November 7, 1844, South Adams, and 
lives there. 3. William Michards^ Selectman, &c., owns and 
occupies the ancient estate here, born March 18, 1798; married 
here, June 12, 1831, Sarah Maria Sliattuck, born Castleton, Vt., 
November 5, 1808. daughter of Jesse Shattuck and Mary Earl 
(Sargeant). Their 3 children, born and live here — Edward Per- 
kins, September 15, 1832; Charles Holton, August 16, 1834; Benja- 
min Holton, February 4, 1840. 

Isaac (son of Solomon and Rebecca), born here, June 13, 1760; 
died here, September 22, 1822. He married here, May 8, 1792, 
Jemima, daughter of Ephraim and Martha Hammond, of Newton. 
She died here (house Washington St., present site of Horace W. 
Jordan's). He married here. May 17, 1795, Betsey, daughter of 
Thomas and Hepzibah (Winship) Shed — born Roxbury, February 
23, 1772; died here, February 10, 1848. His 6 children, all born 
here, follow in small capitals. Betsey, February 7, 1796; married 
here, January 1, 1815, Thaddeus, son of Thaddeus and Abigail (Rice) 
Baldwin, born Gerry, now Phillipston, May 28, 1*^88; died here, 
March 6, 1834. She lives now at Nashua, N. H. Their 7 children, 
all born here, follow in italics. Eliza, November 22, 1815 ; died on 
the 24th. George JOoammi, March 29, 1817; died here. May 16, 
1840. Sarah Ann, December 29, 1819; married here, October 13, 

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1840, John Field, of Peterboro, N. H., lives West Cambridge. He 
first married here, May 12, 1836, Sarah Elliot, daughter of David 
and Mary (Huntington) Worcester, who born Thornton, N. H. ; 
died here, June 20, 1839, leaving 2 sons born here — Henry Martyn, 
October 3, 1837, now in H. U., and John Worcester, June 11, 1839. 
Children of John Field and Sarah Ann, are Sarah Ann Baldwin, 
May 9, 1846; William Evarts, May 29, 1848; Arthur Dwight, 
December 23, 1850; George Addison, November 10, 1854; all born 
West Cambridge. Elizabeth Shed^ August 12, 1822 ; married here, 
October 13, 1840, Jeremiah B. Mason, born Thompson, Conn., June 
2, 1811, son of Isaac and Zurviah (Bowen). They removed from 
here to Nashua, N. H., 1851. Children born here — George Henry, 
August 11, 1841 ; Thaddeus Bowen, June 21, 1843; William Waldo, 
July 30, 1846; Sarah Ann Elizabeth, born Nashua, December, 27, 
1852. Abigail liicey September 16, 1824; died here February 20, 
183ti. Jdh?i Murdocky J SiUUSLry 4, 1828; died here December 5, 
1832. Thaddeu8 Augustus^ January 16, 1830 ; married Great Falls, 
N. H., Harriet Newell Edwards, and has George Edwards, born 
December 7, 1854. Habbiet, December 1, 1797 ; died here, Sep- 
tember 28, 1798. Habbiet, July 20, 179 ; married here, October 
13, 1840, Nathan Stratton, (his 2d wife). He born Templeton (that 
part now in Phillipston), December 12, 1783, son of Jonathan and 
Sarah (Childs), removed from here May, 1854, to Nashua, N. H., 
where she died April 29, 1855, interred Brighton, May 2, leaving 1 
child, Abilene Eliza^ born here January 30, 1843. Thomas Shed, 
October 24, 1802; died here, September 22, 1849, unm. Geobge, 
April 26, 1807; lives Natick, unm. Chaeler, September 8, 1809; 
married February 11, 1837, Olive D., born April ]7, 1815, daughter 
of John and E. Clement, of Sherborn, and lives there. Children — 
Charles Austin^ April 4, 1838 ; Benjamin Holton^ March 26, 1840, 
died February 6, 1842; George William^ January 20, 1842; 
Elizabeth Shsd^ December 19, 1843; John Clement, July 10, 1849; 
Clarence Melville, April 21, 1851. 

Notices frotn tJie Early Town and Church Records etc, not inserted 


John and Joane Champney had Mary, married Theophilus Rich- 
ardson, Woburn, May 2, 1664; Sarah, married John Russell, 
Woburn, October 31, 1661; John, died February 20, 1664 — all 
baptized, Cambridge. Joane, married (2d husband), Goldin Moore. 
Children — ^an?iaA, joins church, May 18, 1666; Lydia; Buth, 

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1644, February 11. Born, Deborah, daughter of Christopher 
and Margaret Champney. 

1119, December 24. Married John Coulson and Bethia Champney. 

Children of Richard Champney were William/ Richard/ Jon- 
athan/ Noah/ Samuel, (Which Richard?) 

From Copps Hill burial-ground, Boston, Caleb Dinsdal Champ- 
ney died October 4, 1802, aged 26 ; Sarah, wife of Capt. Caleb 
Champney, died October 13, 1800. 


This is a view of the place once owned and occupied by uncle 
Jonas C. Champney, and is as familiar to us all as the old home- 
stead itself. The house is located on what was called the "Old 
country road," and is one of the oldest houses in the town, and the 
first cultivated farm. The house was used as a tavern as early as 
1752, aiid was kept lor more than forty years. How natural the 
scene 1 The house, barns, orchard, the lofty old elms in front of 
the house by the stone wall, and the chestnut tree in the corner of 
the barn-yard. The river, out of which I caught my first fish, and 
the bridge that spans across, reminds us of the first lessons in the 

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art of swimming. The bold, headlong plunge from off the timbers 
into the deep waters below, and bringing up the pebbles from the 
bottom, was proof of the wonderful feat performed, and seemed 
the very hight of daring ^nd manly triumph. My young heart did 
not dream that 1 should ever live to read in history or romance a 
more lofty exhibition of courage. 

The pleasing associations clustering around this spot, is second 
only to those of the old home. Many of the happiest hours of 
boyhood were passed here, in company with cousins Horatio and 
Abby, who were born in this house. The roaming over the fields, 
and through the woods, accompanied by that faithful old dog, 
"Ventor," whose assistance was so indispensable in driving the 
unruly cattle, and hunting the wild game, seems but as yesterday, 
when I look upon the scene. I have not yet forgot the entertain- 
ments of the household ; the kind words of uncle Joxas and aunt 
Phebe, as we used to call them; the sweet mwsic of the flute and 
bassoon, played by him, whiled away many happy hours. 

Uncle Jonas died February 24, 1824, aged 41. His widow after- 
wards married Ephraim H. Farrar, and resided at the old parson- 
age, so long occupied by his father, who was the first settled 
minister of the town. She died November 20, 1848, aged 61 years. 
Horatio was a mechanic, and served his apj)renticeship in the same 
shop, and at the same time with Stephen A. Douglas, in Brattle- 
boro, Vt. ; was never married, and died May 10, 1849, aged 39. 

Abby Parkeb, the only surviving member of the family, married 
C. C. Bellows, and now occupies the mansion left by her step- 
father, and has but one child now living; has buried three, all of 
whom lived to develope minds of rare promise, but were snatched 
suddenly away. 

It will be seen that in this branch of the family, the name has 
already become extinct, and in fact the appearances are that it may 
run out entirely ! 

I believe uncle Francis Champj^ey resided in this house previous 
to uncle Jonas, as cousin Samuel, his son, speaks in his letter of 
living here in his younger days. Uncle Francis, however, lived 
most of his lifetime in Groton, where he died, in 1837. His wife 
died near the same time. Their children, Fanny, Abigail, Francis, 
Samuel and Ferdinand, are still living. 

The author regrets exceedingly that he cannot give more infor- 
mation in regard to this branch of the family, but would only say 
that it is not his fault that it is not done. ^ 

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It is extremely painful to be compelled to announce, within these 
pages, the death of one of the band of^brothers. Samuel, who 
took such a lively interest in the family gathenng, died in little less 
than one year after that event. Those who remain, will not soon 
forget his cheerfulnes and ready wit, which so enlivened the com- 
pany on that joyful occasion. 

While suffering upon his dying* bed, his mind ran upon holding 
another family gathering, and appointed the 24th of October, his 
own birth-day, as the time for it to take place; but, alas, he went 
his way to the spirit land before that day came round, and is now 
preparing for that great and final gathering that knows no diso- 

For several year-* brother Samuel was engaged in agricultural 
pursuits, and was deeply devoted to the improvement of his farm. 
He loved the business intensely, and labored too hard for his 
health. He named his place " Fremont,'' and in most of the State 
and county fairs the products of his farm brought the premiums. 
In writing me a short time previous to his being taken sick, he 
said, " I regret that I do not understand farming better, for it is a 
blessed employment." His lands were under a high state of culti- 
vation, and contained a large variety of choice fruit trees, and, 
unused as he was to th<> business of farming, he was progressing 
with wonderful success. Had he been spared a few years longer, 
he would have possessed one of the most comfortable Jind pleasant 
homes in New England ; but his ambition, together with the terri- 
ble death of his two noble sons, so wrought upon his constitution 
that his health failed him, and he rapidly declined, until death 
came as a kind and welcome messenger, to guide him into the 
presence of his loved ones, gone before. He died on the morning 
of September 22, 1866, in his 53d year. 

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